The Courage to Change
by fictionletsyoufly
Summary: They were enemies for the longest time, feeding off each other's misery. Now he must prove to her that he can be someone other than the Death Eater's son and win her heart. But love between blood does not come without a price. A lesson they must learn...
1. Chapter One: Doubts

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER ONE SUMMARY: Draco struggles with his home life, while he discovers that there is more happiness to life than his father would like him to imagine.**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

* * *

**Chapter One : Doubts  
"Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt."  
- William Shakespeare**

Draco was walking slowly through the maze of hedges that spread around him in all directions. A weeping willow stood forlornly in center of the tall shrubs, its branches like a mossy fountain pouring from its thick trunk. It was surrounded by a large patch of acacias - his mother's favorite flower. She had insisted when the manor was built that the gardens be filled with them, and so they were.

Draco enjoyed getting lost in the maze; he loved the mystery and peacefulness of not knowing his location. Sometimes, especially when he was troubled, he would wander aimlessly in the gardens for hours until he happened upon the exit. That is what he did and had been doing since witnessing yet another prisoner fall victim to Voldemort's powerful wand. He had watched her suffer and die for the pureblood cause, just like all of the others that had been murdered in the same way.

He didn't know why it sickened him so; it didn't seem to disturb anyone else. In fact, they enjoyed the entertainment, but he couldn't make himself take pleasure in death - no matter how many times his father had wished him to.

"Draco, honey!" a voice called from the direction of the house. "Come inside?"

It was his mother, Narcissa, no doubt just closing an argument with his father about Draco sitting in on the Death Eater meetings. They always fought about that topic, and Draco always hoped his mother would win... But she never did.

"Draco!" she yelled softly.

"Coming..." he mumbled to himself as he shuffled in the direction of the sound, leading him to the garden's exit.

The bright lights lining the path to the gardens illuminated his face, blinding him for a moment. When the shock of light faded, he could decipher his mother's silhouette leaning out of the back door. He hadn't recognized how dark it was until now, the stars blinking ominously in the sky, as if warning him of something. Something felt dangerously out of place, and his heartbeat was erratic as he edged nearer to the house.

When he came to the door, his mother's eyes were bloodshot from crying, but she smiled falsely as she pulled him gently over the threshold, his eyes watching her curiously.

"Mother..." he said, shaking slightly. "What's wrong?"

She smiled at him again, her long blonde hair moving in waves as she shook her head jerkily. Then the grin snapped off her beautiful face as she turned to look down the dimly lit hall, where a door had slammed closed. Out of it emerged Draco's father, Lucius, clutching the walking stick that encased his wand. His arrogant gaze was locked on Draco as the glass pole tapped loudly on the hardwood with each step Lucius took. He halted in front of Draco, towering over him, as he stroked the handle of his stick.

"How long, I wonder, Draco," Lucius spoke calmly as he always did before he exploded, "will it take you to become accustomed to the occurrences in this house?"

Draco was silent, trying to rival his father's gaze, but looking a bit fearful instead.

"Are you mute, boy?!" Lucius bellowed. "I asked you a question!"

"And if I knew the answer, I would tell you, sir," Draco replied in an attempt to sound confident, but his voice was barely a whisper.

Narcissa whimpered behind him.

"If you knew?!" exclaimed Lucius, his eyes burning with anger. "Well, I know how long it will take! One night! Tonight it ends! Tonight you grow up!"

"Lucius..." Narcissa whispered.

"Narcissa! Our son will not be a coward!"

"But he isn't!" she cried, tears beginning to flow. "He isn't a - "

"Ouiet!" Lucius screamed, his voice echoing down the corridor as he pointed his walking stick at her.

Instinctively, in an effort to protect his mother, Draco drew his wand in a flash, tip turned on his father. Draco's eyes were swimming and his teeth were clenched so tightly that he heard them pop.

"_Don't touch her_..."

Lucius laughed mockingly, "I will not play this game with you, Draco."

"Who is the coward then?" Draco said fiercely, narrowing his eyes.

"Very well," Lucius sighed as he uncapped his inconspicuous case and slid his wand from it.

The two of the stood at the ready for only a second when Draco fired the first spell...

"_Expelliarmus_!" Draco yelled.

But Lucius was quick and deflected the curse. Taken aback, Draco stumbled, and Lucius took his chance.

"_Punctum Somesis_!"

Draco only glimpsed a flash of white light before his entire body began to burn like a thousand beestings. He yelped once in pain, but he forced himself to regain his composure. Draco felt something brewing inside him - white-hot - an emotion so strong he was sure it was something like hatred. He looked up, peering through eyes that were swollen from the stinging sensation, and he screamed it at the top of his lungs. He felt the spell fly from his wand, carrying with it the pain that he felt.

"_Crucio_!"

Immediately, his father collapsed and began to writhe on the wooden floor, his hands grappling to find his wand, but it had flown from his fingers. He was gasping for air, the pain evident on his face. Narcissa was screaming, her fingers fumbling to open the door, to escape the sight of her family feuding.

Draco released the curse, not wanting to permanently harm his father, and Lucius stopped struggling. His hands were shaking violently, and his face was slick with perspiration.

"Good..." he whispered painfully to Draco, praising him for his hot temper. "_Redigo tumoris_..."

Draco could then feel the swelling recede. The welts that had appeared on his face and arms began to disappear. His breathing was heavy as he watched Lucius lift himself unsteadily to his feet and lean against the wall for support. His heart was racing, the anger he felt barely lessened from before, but he did not lash out again.

"That's my boy," Lucius smiled weakly as he clapped Draco on the back. Then he turned back down the hall and vanished into his bedroom.

Draco spun around to face his mother, who was bawling in the corner, her face and clothes drenched in saline. She glanced wearily at her son, who returned her gaze, but then turned hastily away, walking past her. He flung open the back door and headed towards the garden once more.

Beneath the pale moonlight, he stormed to the courtyard where several statues and vases stood. He roared as he charged up to them and shoved them from their pedestals to the stone floor below. They shattered, marble bits skidding over his bare feet. He felt numb, his body doing what it would like while his mind spun with confusion and fear. Why did he blow up on his father in that way? What was he becoming? Was this what Lucius had wanted from him all along, for him to feel like _this_? And suddenly, feeling helpless, he kneeled on the uneven ground, his hot tears dripping onto the rock.

Narcissa, having gone to her bedroom to tend to her husband, heard Draco's tortured screams and peeked through the curtains, watching him with a breaking heart. She wanted him to be happy, but Lucius claimed that happiness came slowly within his line of work. She wondered how long Draco would have to wait, for it had been a year now since he had joined ranks with the Death Eaters, and his condition seemed to be worsening with each passing day.

"His heart will be healed when we wake..." Lucius whispered, looking up at his wife from his place in bed.

"You repeat that every time this happens, Lucius," she said forcefully, her eyes pleading. "I've never seen him in this much pain so don't you _dare_ say meaningless things to me now. If you speak it, you shall mean it."

Lucius did not respond. Instead, he turned on his side, away from Narcissa, pulling the bulky silk, comforter with him. Narcissa knew she was right; it would take nothing less than a miracle to mend her son's heart now.

* * *

Ron and Hermione were standing at platform nine and three-quarters at King's Cross, waiting on the train that would take them to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But their seventh and final return to Hogwarts was not a trip they were particularly looking forward to because the only thing either of them could think about was Harry Potter. He had stayed behind in order to hunt for and destroy the remaining Horcruxes - the last bits of Voldemort's soul. Ron and Hermione had asked - if not begged - to accompany him, but he had insisted rather forcefully that he go on his own. His friends knew he was trying to keep them safe, but going back to Hogwarts felt very wrong without him.

"You said the Order is watching him, right?" Hermione asked nervously.

"Yes, Hermione," Ron assured her over the garbled conversations that surrounded them. "They're half a step behind him, just like he said they would be..."

Hermione breathed deeply and closed her eyes, "If anything happens to him-"

"Nothing is going to happen, Hermione!" Ron snapped angrily. "Everything is fine. Stop talking about it!"

Hermione cringed at his tone, but she was not angry. She knew why Ron was upset, and it wasn't because of her wondering about Harry's well-being. During the summer an envelope had arrived from Hogwarts informing her that she was chosen by the teachers to be Head Girl. This meant she and the Head Boy - whomever that may be - would be sitting together the entire way to Hogwarts. Ron was only jealous because it wasn't him. However, this information also worried Hermione, as there were not many boys besides Ron and Harry with whom she would enjoy sharing a train compartment.

People around them began to pick up their belongings. Ron looked in the distance and saw the Hogwarts Express chugging around the corner. He heaved his luggage onto his shoulder, as Hermione popped a handle from hers. Muggle suitcases are so strange, he thought as the train puffed to a stop in front of them, the wheels screeching as the breaks were pulled. The doors flung open all along the train, and the students began to board, dragging their term's worth of baggage along with them.

Ron and Hermione boarded together as always, pushing their way through the crowded train. Inexperienced first years were standing in the middle of the aisle ways talking to friends or fighting over seats, and Hermione huffed as one boy almost rammed her head with his suitcase. The farther back they shoved, the older the students became and the clearer the walkway was. After passing the fourth years, they made it to the prefect cabin with little incident. Ron stopped to sit with Ernie MacMillan and Anthony Goldstein as Hermione reluctantly did the math; if Ernie, Anthony, and Ron were sitting here...

"Wait," she said, worried. "If none of _you_ are Head Boy that means it's..."

"Draco Malfoy," Ron nodded apologetically.

Her heart dropped. She should have known Snape would have it arranged.

"Great..." she sighed. "I have the privelage of riding to Hogwarts with a ferret."

The boys laughed at her reference to Draco's horrid transfiguration experience, in which he was turned into a small albino ferret, but she had not intended it as a joke. In fact, she was very irate with the lack of logic the teachers were exemplifying by allowing Malfoy to be Head Boy. He wasn't responsible enough to brush his teeth every night, let alone lead a student body.

Suddenly the train jerked into motion, causing Hermione to lose her balance. She caught herself on Ron's lap, and, embarrassed, she blushed and said she should be going. She waved goodbye and pulled her suitcase through the aisle until she came to a cabin labeled "Head Students", and she hesitated as she glanced back at Ron, three compartments down from hers. She could see the back of his red hair as he laughed with the other two boys; her feet almost walked backwards at the sight, but she had to sit in the cabin before her. She had no other choice. Her free hand reached out and slid open the door slowly, but she averted her eyes from the boy in the seat opposite her as she shoved her loaded suitcase into the luggage shelf overhead. She unzipped the case partially and pulled the newest issue of Wtiches Weekly from it.

"Nice of you to show up, Granger," Draco sneered.

"Yes, lovely, isn't it, ferret?" Hermione replied cynically.

"Hm," Draco hummed, bored.

Hermione flipped open her magazine, browsing through the contents. Draco's eyes lingered on Hermione for a few moments, but eventually, he turned to gaze out the window, his pointed profile reflected in the glass. Hermione saw - in the corner of her vision - his grey eyes flash in her direction several times during the reading of her magazine. She could not have been more disgusted if Severus Snape sent her a Valentine howler.

"Would you mind _not_ looking at me, Malfoy?" she asked rudely. "It's starting to burn my face."

"Ouch!" Draco exclaimed playfully, rubbing his chest. "You really know how to stab a man squarely in the heart, don't you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, opening the magazine again. She huffed as she crossed her legs, trying to make him leave her alone, but keep in mind this was Draco Malfoy. The task was more difficult than it sounded.

"So where is pity Potter these days?" he inquired, slouching low in his seat with his arms crossed.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"It was simply a question..."

"Do I have to answer?"

"No, I suppose not."

And she didn't answer. Draco could not be trusted with anything related to Harry. He would only tell his father, who would report faithfully back to Voldemort. She would not be responsible for that. Besides, the less she talked to him the better.

"Why won't you talk to me?" Draco asked arrogantly.

Hermione slapped her magazine onto the large, vacant spot of seat next to her, "Why won't you shutup?!" she cried. "You don't want to talk to me Draco! You don't even like me! Stop pretending to!"

"I want to talk; you want to sit here in utter silence. You think I'm annoying; I think you're a prick. But we're both Head Students, and we must speak to each other sometime. There's no better time than the present."

"Yes there is," Hermione retorted. "It's called 'never'."

"Fine," Draco said, throwing his arms up in surrender. "Don't say I never gave you a chance."

Hermione's heart suddenly jumped into her throat, constricting the smart-alack comeback that had been ready to exit. She glimpsed it, nestled on his left forearm, the black figure in strong contrast to the paleness of his skin. A tattoo of a skull with a snake for a tongue - the Dark Mark, the mark of a Death Eater. Hermione shifted herself mechanically to the corner of the compartment farthest away from him. Draco saw her eyes fill with horror as she gawked at the tattoo that had been so painfully burnt onto his skin. In a panicked response, he yanked his arm down quickly, pulling it closely to his side, the burn against his stomach. Hermione's eyes shot to his face now.

"What?" he attempted to defend himself.

She looked unconvinced, for she knew he caught her staring at it, "I should have known."

Draco paused for a moment, considering telling the Mudblood a bit, but he held his tongue. It was _Hermione Granger_.

"Yes, you probably should have," he smarted back, "but what more could I expect from a _Mudblood_?"

"Probably the same I could expect from a _Death Eater_," she said, letting the previous insult roll off her back as usual.

Draco was quiet for a few seconds, "I'm not as bad as you think I am, you know..."

"Oh really?" Hermione said, not necessarily believing him, but interested to hear what he thought was so great about his personality.

"Really."

"And if that's so," Hermione reasoned," then why is it that you put on that mask?"

"What are you talking about , Granger?" he asked, becoming defensive again.

"You just did it!" she pointed out. "You try to seem intimidating when you feel like people are figuring you out. For example, when you're around Crabbe and Goyle, you wouldn't dare talk to me like this."

"Talk to you like _what_?!" he exclaimed. "I just wanted to talk since I have nothing bloody else to do!"

"Well fine then!" Hermione yelled, frustrated. "Talk! Go!"

Draco narrowed his eyes, "You have a bit of a temper, don't you, Granger?"

"I only get mad when I'm provoked," she replied as-a-matter-of-factly.

"So do I... provoke you?" Draco asked, smirking.

"Yes, very much so..." she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Watching her, Draco couldn't help but laugh, and the noise sounded foreign as it inadvertently escaped his lips. It had been so long since he had laughed, and he wondered how someone so filthy could manage to coax it out of him. She was just so ignorant of evil, so innocent, that her attempts at mimicking anger were almost pathetic.

"What's so funny?" she said through clenched teeth.

"You have no idea..."

"Excuse me?" Hermione raised her brows, offended by the slight on her intelligence.

"You're just comical when you're annoyed," he answered. "And you're a terrible actress."

"You think I'm acting like you get on my nerves?" Hermione squeaked incredulously. "You think I enjoy you?"

"Yes," Draco said confidently. "I do happen to think that, actually."

"Wow..." Hermione mouthed. "You have no clue either, then. Don't start thinking stupid thoughts, Draco - although I know how hard it is for you. At least understand this one thing : I hate you."

Draco laughed loudly, almost evilly, "You don't even know what hate is, Mudblood."

Then his eyes were suddenly sinister, like orbs of smoldering grey smoke, and they singed her for a few seconds, her breath caught fearfully in her throat. She knew he was hiding something behind that unapproachable stare, but she didn't dare ask what it might be. She thought she already knew.

Then he turned to the window once more, burning the trees down with his gaze. Hermione was simply thankful that it was no longer her in their spotlight. She had barely opened her magazine when a sharp knock came on the glass of their compartment. They both looked up to find Professor McGonagall swinging open the door. Her frizzy, grey hair was wound into a tight bun, as always, and she wore a tall, old-fashioned witch's hat atop her head. She looked over her small, square-rimmed glasses at the pair.

"The prefects are prepared for their meeting, and they are waiting on the Head Students to join them. So if you two wouldn't mind..." Then, seeing the two of them glance loathingly at one another. "I realize that you two have your differences - " Draco rolled his eyes - "but we thought that putting you both together would mend the gaps between you. You never know when you may need one another." Hermione gagged. "Now come."

She gestured for them to follow her so the two of them rose. Draco shoved in front of Hermione impolitely, giving her an awful look as he passed.

"Ladies first," she mumbled under her breath.

Hermione glanced in the glass compartments as she walked down the car. Several of the students were already asleep, some of them were talking to neighbors, and some were staring blankly out the window. She wished she were in their place instead of her own. How was she to hold a meeting with Malfoy, being the control-freak that he was? She groaned internally at the thought.

They stopped where she had left Ron only shortly before, and as she approached, Ron was laughing with Ernie and Anthony, which made her a bit jealous. At least someone is having fun, she thought.

Unlike the other compartments, this one was very long and, instead of being parallel to the front and back of the train, the benches ran along the sides. The girls were sitting together - or at least Hannah and Padma were; Pansy was sitting alone, an expression of contempt plastered on her face. The boys were sitting separately from the girls, cutting up and laughing loudly. The cubicle hushed slowly when Professor McGonagall poked her head in, "Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy will be holding your prefect meeting, as they are Head Students. Please give them your respect and attention."

With that, she walked gracefully back to the teacher's car, leaving Hermione to suffer. She sat down beside Ron so she wouldn't feel so uncomfortable as Draco sat by himself, far away from Pansy - who then subtly stuck her tongue out at him.

"Okay," Hermione began. "The first order of business is the patrol schedule. We have to monitor the halls for one hour after curfew to make sure everyone is in their dormitories. I think we should go in pairs... And each pair will patrol a different House entrance." She paused for a reaction and saw everyone nod in agreement. She continued, "So Ernie and Padma, Anthony and Hannah, Draco and Pansy, and Ron and I will be partners. Unless anyone objects?"

"Do you really think it's fair to put people from the same Houses together?" Draco whined.

"What difference does it make?" Hermione retorted. "We're not going to be monitoring _our_ House..."

"Well, can we at least switch pairs every week?" Draco suggested. "For variety? Change of scenery perhaps?" No one noticed the disgusted glance he threw at Pansy.

"Um..." Hermione paused nervously. "Sure I suppose. I'll have those schedules out to you all then... The next thing is deducting House points. As prefects, we are permitted to take points from any House for such things as breaking curfew, getting caught cheating, sneaking to forbidden areas, and other such behaviors. The only glitch is that you cannot remove points for the behaviors of any other prefect..." She glanced sarcastically at Malfoy. "Darn... Also, there is the topic of the Final Ball and Graduation, which we also have a hand in, but that is a long way off and reserved for another meeting... Any questions?"

The room was silent, and she looked around, many of the students looking pleased at her ideas or perhaps it was her crack on Draco. She couldn't be sure.

"Okay I guess that's all there is to say..." she clapped her hands together, ending the discussion.

Everyone continued their previous conversations as she ran a hand through her hair and turned to Ron. He was playing some sort of game with Anthony and Ernie, and Hermione watched as they magically animated a sock and other such items, laughing hysterically as they did. She couldn't help but giggle at their silliness. That was one thing, among many things, that she loved about Ron; he was never afraid to make a fool of himself.

Draco watched her intently, trying to discover what in the bloody world she could find amusing about grown boys playing with a sock. Her motiveless joy perplexed him, and the more he thought about it, the more confused he became. He did not speak to anyone; he was much too mature for the children in this cubicle. No more did he find their immature diversions humorous; he did not find much humorous at all these days.

He studied Hermione as she leaned into Weasley, her arm wrapping around his waist, and she rested her head tiredly on his right shoulder. Weasley looked down at her, his eyes swimming with contentment, and he placed his arm about her neck. Draco caught her smile comfortably as she snuggled into Weasley's chest. He wasn't sure what it was, but he envied something about that image. For the first time in Draco's life he noticed Ron Weasley had something that he did not. Something was missing.

* * *

The train shuddered to a halt, waking Hermione from her peaceful nap. She sat up, rubbing her tired eyes as she looked about the compartment. She was still nestled in Ron's limp arms. His head was relaxed back on the cushion of the seat, a quiet snore issuing from his throat. The other boys and girls were curled up on several different sections of the seats, and the only other person that seemed to be awake was Draco Malfoy. He was idly rolling his wand between his fingers, observing the way the stick moved. Hermione studied him quietly, trying not to notice the sadness etched on his face. She had never seen him when he was virtually alone, and it suddenly felt different.

Hermione yawned and stretched her arms to signal that she was awake, and Draco's head snapped up as he hurriedly pocketed his wand. She did not smile at him as she would have anyone else; he didn't deserve it, no matter how he acted when he was alone. His features had returned to their usual sneer, and she would treat him like she usually did - like he was invisible.

Outside her window Hermione saw Hogsmeade Station, the tiny railway station that would be their closest train stop to Hogwarts. She rose, figuring she would retrieve her suitcase before the aisle became crowded. Ron stirred beside her, his eyes fluttering slightly open.

"Where you goin'?" he mumbled.

"The train has just arrived," Hermione explained. "I'm going to get my things."

Ron nodded and stood sleepily, "I'll join you."

At this, Draco recalled that his luggage was also tucked in the other compartment so he followed the couple into the hallway. Ron shot him a sickened glance over his shoulder as he reached for Hermione's hand.

"I'm not out to steal your girlfriend, Weasley," Draco called after them. "Just want to get my things if that's alright with you."

Neither of them retaliated, as they opened the door to the compartment. Draco leaned against the wall, arms crossed impatiently, as Ron helped Hermione lift her bulging suitcase from the high ledge.

"Sometime this year would be spectacular, lovebirds..." Draco said, looking up at the ceiling.

"Did you hear something, Hermione?" Ron asked her sarcastically.

Hermione paused for a second, her hand cupped at her ear, "Yes, actually. It sounded like an obnoxious buzzing sound, but it seems to have stopped."

And she continued down the aisle, dragging her suitcase difficultly behind her.

The two of them exited the black locomotive, following the hundreds of other students to the path outside. Hagrid stood waiting on the dirt path to the lake, waving his arms and calling all the first years over. Hermione remembered climbing in Hagrid's boats and being carried across the lake with Harry and Ron; they had been best friends from the beginning. She sighed as she watched the young wizards tromp through the mud, marking the start of their adventure.

Many carriages, at first glance appearing to be hoisted by nothing, stood waiting for the rest of the students, just as they had been the many other returns to this beautiful place. But Draco saw what Hermione could not; skeleton-like horses drew the carriages. He knew they were called threstals and could only be seen by those who had witnessed death, but this was the first year he had ever been able to view one. Each carriage was pulled by two of them, their bodies a deep shade of grey - almost black. They resembled very thin, very bony horses, with daunting wings like those of a bat that had a span wider than Draco was tall. He stared at them in their terrifying beauty as he boarded a carriage filled with Slytherin students.

Hermione stepped into the carriage with Ron, hugging Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood as she realized they were on the carriage with them. Ron was sitting almost uncomfortably close to her, so she shifted over a bit. Then he laid his arm on the back of her seat.

"How was your wonderful partner in the compartment before you joined me?" he asked, smiling.

She looked at him as if she couldn't believe he was asking her that question, "Just like everything is with Malfoy - dreadful."

"Did you talk at all?" Ron asked quickly, his jealous nature rising. "Was he mean to you?"

"We didn't talk much at all, Ron," she replied, calming his nerves, "besides a couple... dozen witty comments. I slept most of the way anyway, just like everyone else."

"Didn't you think it was strange the way he was looking at you?" he asked, catching Hermione off guard.

'What do you mean 'the way he was looking at me'?" she asked slowly.

"You didn't see him?" Ron asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "I thought everyone noticed. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, especially when your head was on my chest... Are you sure nothing happened in the compartment?"

"Positive..."

"Well I would watch out Hermione," Ron warned her sincerely. "If Malfoy were looking at me like that - considering of course that I were a girl - I would keep on my toes. It can't mean anything good..."

Hermione nodded. Although Ron was a bit hot-headed, it didn't take much to calm him down. A few laughs and all suspicions were evaporated between the two of them. They chatted all the way up the steep hill to Hogwarts, just like they always had. Neville and Luna accompanied them, joining in their conversation from time to time, and Luna reading The Ouibbler, of which her father was editor-in-chief, upside down as she so liked to do.

"How's Harry?" Neville asked, looking around. "I haven't seen him."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

Ron replied, "Harry's not coming to Hogwarts this year. The Order needed him for other things."

Luna peeped over her magazine, her eyes wide as usual, "Not coming to Hogwarts? That's terrible. I shall miss him."

"I think we all will," Hermione agreed.

And she thought of Harry the entire way to Hogwarts, how he wasn't with them for the first time since the beginning, and her heart pounded as she thought of where he might be instead... She attempted to shove those thoughts aside, however. Harry was strong enough to fend for himself, and besides, the Order was protecting him. She needn't worry herself with things that were completely under control, she thought.

Then, as if by magic, those foreboding thoughts disappeared as the great castles of Hogwarts appeared over the hill. Warm feelings rose inside her as she remembered all the memorable moments that had happened within those blessed walls, and she smiled at Ron as they stepped from the carriages onto the Grounds.

To their left was the lake, the dwindling sunlight making the surface sparkle as the first years rippled its waves, traveling across to the grounds. Hagrid's booming voice could be heard, carrying over the water, giving the new students his famous "beginning of the year" speech that he had recited so many times since he had carried Hermione's year over that glistening water. And ahead of them was Hogwarts, its spiraling towers seeming to brush the sky, and its stunning size shrinking the students to mere ants in comparison.

The students flowed collectively thorough the threshold of the magnificent school, the Entrance Hall bustling with children of all ages. The traffic turned right, entering the Great Hall where meals, celebrations, and ceremonies had been held for centuries. No matter how many times Hermione stepped into the room, it always took her breath away. The cathedral-style ceiling seemed to go on forever - this illusion only furthered by the enchantment that caused the ceiling to reflect the sky outside. Candles floated serenely above the four, long tables that filled the Hall. Each table was assigned to a specific House - designated by a long, narrow tapestry, sewn in the specific House colors, that ran along the length of the table. Closest to the doors from the Entrance Hall was the Slytherin table, and then, as you progress to the opposite wall: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and finally Gryfinndor. At the front of the room was the High Table, a platform where the teachers sat and where the Headmaster - Hermione shed a tear for Dumbledore - would make the start-of-tem speech.

Several students had already sat down, the Hall rather noisy with conversations. Ron led the way to the Gryfinndor table - the table set with red and gold - and sat down, Hermione plopping down beside him. Then from within the crowd, Ginny Weasley, Ron's only sister, spotted them and came to take a seat.

"Hello," she smiled happily, hugging Hermione around the neck. "How was your time on the Express?"

"Fine for me," Ron replied. "Hermione had a splendid time, too. Didn't you, Hermione?"

"Oh yes," she grinned mockingly. "Very funny, Ron."

"She had to sit with Malfoy..." Ron whispered loudly in Ginny's ear.

Ginny nodded, patting Hermione on the shoulder sympathetically, and Hermione sighed, smiling at Ron's sister. Hermione had always thought she was beautiful with her glossy, ginger hair and grayish-blue eyes. She was the only girl born into the Weasley family for generations, which may have been why she was a bit of a tomboy. She did have six older brothers, after all.

Soon, all the students were seated, and Professor McGonagall stood, walking to Dumbledore's podium, which was shaped like an owl with outstretched wings, as if it was ready to take off. Professor McGonagall ran her wrinkled fingers along its wings as she began her speech.

"Despite my lengthy education, and my confidence therein, I must say I feel wretchedly unprepared to deliver this speech. Perhaps it is the implausible idea of composing my words to live up to those of the wise man who, for the first time in nearly forty years, is sadly not here to celebrate with us yet another year at Hogwarts," the professor began to tear up, sniffling and wiping the tears aside, as she continued. "Perhaps it is the knowledge that not many could achieve what he did or possibly his kindness toward all people that causes me to feel insufficient, or maybe it is the remembrance of his wisdom that lingers on within these walls and in the minds of the thousands he taught. But I have realized that the excellence he exhibited in his very full life challenges me to rival that excellence - to accept the obstacles that await me in the future with open arms and an open mind and to see the good in every situation... So now I ask you, the wonderful students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will you welcome my challenge with your hearts open or will you shut your doors to opportunity? Will you join me in my quest for excellence or remain behind amidst the cruel and mediocre? And so we begin our year, and in the words of our dear friend and teacher, Albus Dumbledore, I say, 'Let us begin the Sorting!'"

Filch the caretaker rushed onto the stage with a stool to replace Dumbledore's majestic podium as violent applause erupted throughout the Hall. Hermione stood in honor of Dumbledore, and the entire Great Hall followed, producing a room roaring with clapping and cheers. From the Slytherins, clapping quietly in respect, to the Gryfinndors, jumping and screaming and everyone in between, everyone was alive then, paying their tributes to the great Headmaster.

Professor McGonagall did not attempt to quiet them, but instead let them admire the man she had considered to be her friend. It comforted her to hear the children's support. And soon, the Hall was calm once again, the long list of first years being pulled from a trunk. The names on the list would be called, one by one, to be placed on the stool and sorted into the appropriate Houses by the famous Hoqwarts Sorting Hat. The hat was first to occupy the stool, preparing to sing its annual rhyme. Hermione wondered what the clever accessory had come up with this year. It coughed, to many students' amusement, and began:

_Once upon a time ago  
When my threads were strong and new  
The four fine founding wizards,  
Knew just what they would do_

They would build a school for witches  
and wizards, both the same  
But when they came together  
They knew they were not in for a game

Each wizard had their own idea  
On how the school would run  
And so the Sorting of the school  
Had in that time begun

The thoughts of Godric Gryfinndor  
were different in that he  
believed that students should be judged  
on amount of bravery

Helga Hufflepuff thought best  
to keep the students that were faithful  
And in that thought, she knew  
That the school would not derail

And then there's Rowena Ravenclaw  
Who knew she would be smart  
And put the keenest minds together  
In one group from the start

Salazar Slytherin was confident  
That he would stun the rest  
A school of pure-blood, cunning kids  
He knew would be the best

But the friends could not compromise  
For they all rather liked their plan  
And therefore split the school in fours  
into Houses made from each hand

The Houses became battlefields  
Each with their own desire  
And so the school was tainted  
With power-hungry fire

Friends against their friends  
They were pitted on each other  
Each wanting their own glory  
And fail for one another

It was only when poor Slytherin  
Packed his bags and fled  
That the three others sadly realized  
They must become the four instead

So with the school united  
And the Houses squared and tucked away  
It was then they devised their greatest plan  
To put me into play

I am called the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
You slip me on your head  
And I tell you of the House  
In which you will make your bed

So come forth now. There's naught to fear  
While I search through your brain  
Come forth and meet the sorting hat  
I will show your new domain

The Great Hall clapped, impressed at the intelligence of the thing, and the first name was called, beginning the long, long list. But it took no time at all while Hermione's thoughts wandered, and before she even knew better, the last name had been called, ending the ceremony and signaling the start of dinner. She and Ginny caught up from when they had last seen each other at her brother's wedding, which hadn't been that long ago, only June. Ron threw in his two-penny's worth every now and then, but the two girls talked so fast and so long, he often gave up speaking at all. But he did manage a playful peck on Hermione's unsuspecting cheek, after which she blushed a deep shade of red. They laughed and chatted over dinner, but Ginny soon became curious. She had noticed immediately that Harry wasn't present, and she could not contain herself for much longer.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, voicing her concern.

"Off fighting Voldemort, what else?" Ron said insensitively.

Hermione elbowed him, "Don't worry, the Order is protecting him as we speak, no doubt - Kingsley, Tonks, and all the rest. If you want the details, we could go up to the Common Room and speak about it privately; now would be the perfect time since everyone is contained in here."

So they got up from the lively celebration - no one even catching them exit - and they turned left, skipping up the marble entrance steps, heading for the seventh floor.

* * *

He was stalling - staring actually - but he couldn't help himself. Her cherubic face was glowing yellow in the flickering flames of the torches on the wall, and her eyes were dancing. It was odd to see her hanging out with the Weasleys. How she tolerated creatures like that was something of a mystery to him, but she didn't seem to mind. They were laughing now, sharing a private joke - one that Draco could probably never make her laugh at. She didn't bother to give him the time of day, let alone a pleasant conversation, but then again, it wasn't as if he had exactly welcomed her since she was always around those two idiots. Her smile was intoxicating to him now like a sweet poison; the perfect teeth glimmered in the fire.

But then he had to stop himself. He always had to stop himself when he dreamed too far. He had to remind himself where they sat - he at Slytherin, she at Gryfinndor. She was beautiful and generous and kind, but he was sitting on the wrong side of the fence for that sort of thing. The most beautiful woman on his side of the fence was Bellatrix Lestrange, and she was deranged. He also brought to mind that Hermione was a Mudblood - born of Muggles - and he was a pureblood. All of his descendants were witches and wizards, and she was born to ordinary humans. She was inferior in his family's eyes - a waste of wizarding talent - but when he looked at her, his soul looked right past her flaws. He knew it was a mistake, and sometime in the future he would regret it. But he had to love her; he didn't give himself a choice.

"Draco..." said a voice beside him. "Are you alright? What are you staring at?"

It was his loyal comrade Crabbe drawling on beside him. He appreciated the boy's concern, but he didn't exactly want to be interrupted at the moment. He just wanted to think of ways to make it work, be able to be with her without jeopardizing their lives, but every time he tried, his efforts fell flat. It was impossible.

"Nothing," Draco replied. "Mind your own business..."

Across the room, he could she her past the many faces that sat between them. Two Weasleys flanked her : the girl one on the left and Ron on the right. They were talking casually and she was laughing. Then suddenly Ron leaned over to her and kissed her lightly on the cheek, his lips barely touching her face. Draco's heart dropped to the floor as Hermione blushed. Impossible.

He glanced at the food that was set before him, and it no longer looked appetizing to him. He felt ill, and he pushed himself from the table, the legs of his chair making a screeching sound as the wood rubbed the tile floor. People saw him get up but didn't know why he was so angry all of a sudden, and for that, he was relieved.

"Where are you going off to?" Crabbe yelled after him.

But Draco didn't turn around. If he did, the entire Great Hall would see the tears welling up in his eyes - the result of a hopeless romance. Why was it tearing him apart like this? Nothing was supposed to bother him, but something this petty did? He was being ridiculous, and he was not going to let himself go on like this any longer. He headed in the direction of the Slytherin Common Room, tears running down his pale face.

Then he heard her laugh, and he stopped walking, thinking it was only his imagination. But she turned the corner ahead of him, her arm interlocked with Weasley's, and the sister dragging behind. Draco gagged a bit, his muscles were tense, ready to swing at him, but he knew it would be of no benefit. Technically he wouldn't have a reason to hit the red-head. But that was all that restrained him.

The three of them looked up as they approached Draco, and he hoped his tears had dried by now. He would hate it if she saw him crying like a baby right now. They stared at him, just like always - an enemy of their beloved Harry Potter. Winning her was going to be more of a challenge because of that. Harry Potter was their weakness; if he was in danger, they would come running, but Draco saw no use in Harry. Besides, he could sway Hermione on his own, and Potter would only be a hindrance.

"Weasleys... Granger..." Draco nodded at them.

"Malfoy," Ron returned. "Why are you out here by yourself? Did your fat friends ditch you for supper again or did they get lost on their way from the Great Hall?"

Ginny turned her head and sniggered.

"Neither, Weasley," Draco retorted. "They're actually having a meeting discussing the odds of a poor Weasley like you and a Mudblood like her getting together."

Draco smacked himself on the inside for saying that, but he couldn't let Weasley insult him like that. He was strong enough to stand up for himself - stronger than Weasley would ever be. Besides, it was Weasley who had picked the fight; he was simply retailiating.

"Say it one more time, Malfoy, and I'll turn your tongue to cotton..." Ron said as his shaking hand held his wand out.

"Ron..." Hermione whispered, pulling his arm down and staring loathingly at Draco. "He's not worth it."

The words stung Draco slightly coming from the mouth of something so beautiful. Still, he had basically insulted her, calling her the worst name he could think of for someone of her blood status. She had a right to say something equally rude in return, but it still buried a knife in his heart. He wasn't sure there was a point in chasing her anymore. She wasn't going to trade Ron for him; Ron might be poor and homely but he seemed rather genuine, Draco had to admit. Maybe she deserved him.

Draco, humiliated, turned from the trio and continued walking. Originally, he had thought he might retire early, but now he was too upset to sleep. He simply kept walking, not knowing completely where he was going - just going. Maybe eventually he would end up somewhere he wanted to be. It seemed that he didn't want to be anywhere - not at home or at school or with his friends (if you could call those idiots such things). Home was a stressful place lately, with his father a follower of the Dark Lord and his mother not too far behind. They had been pressuring him to join them, and in some circumstances he did and enjoyed it. The Dark Lord seemed truly interested in him, giving him small tasks to accomplish here and there, but other times, when the tasks were more sinister and... dark, Draco was a bit hesitant. And frankly, he was scared. The Death Eaters - followers of Voldemort - kept saying that there was going to be a war and that Draco should be honored to be participating, but how could he be honored when he wasn't sure the things he did were honorable?

And now school was plagued with illicit love, and it seemed he would never be able to show Hermione how much he needed her and not just because of her beauty. He now realized needed her strength - although he would never admit it. He thought maybe she was the escape he needed from home, the person he needed to show him what was right when he was confused like this. She seemed to know so much about that, and she looked like the only one he could turn to.

Or perhaps this infatuation had begun in a rebellion against his father's beliefs. Maybe he had become tired of hearing of the pure-blood cause, the fight for purity, the deaths that paid its price. The pureblood reason was lost in his eyes, but his father would never give up. Draco thought of this as his way of repaying Lucius...

A breeze ruffled his hair, and he recognized that he was on the school grounds, close to the Entrance Hall of the school again. He could get to the Slytherin Common Room from there. He turned in that direction. To his right, the lake shimmered in the dull moonlight, whites and greys floating on its surface. It was somewhat peaceful to be walking alone for a change, thinking about little; he found it very relaxing and soon, he found himself in the Entrance Hall. Few other kids were present here, but there were two others standing by the Grand Staircase chatting. There were two doors on either side of the staircase. To the left was a door that led to the first level of the dungeon, also the level of the Slytherin Common Room, and to the right was the door to the kitchen and the Hufflepuff Common Room.

Draco took the door to the left, of course, and he was faced by a long stairwell lit on both walls by torches. The walls themselves were made of grey stone, and it was a very confined feeling being surrounding by stone on all sides. The stairwell wasn't very big either; sometimes Crabbe and Goyle had a difficult time fitting themselves in the space.

There was a maze of corridors that kept the Slytherin Common Room separate from the rest of the dungeon, but Draco knew the way perfectly. Three left turns and one right and he was standing in front of the common room. Of course from the outside it looked simply like a bland stone wall, but upon speaking the password...

"_Obscurum_..." muttered Draco , and the stones receded, sliding back to allow him passage.

It was a large room, but with a low ceiling that dripped water every now and then. But that was expected considering that the room was located directly under the lake. It was decorated darkly with green and silver - the House colors - and there were several skulls tucked away in various places. Draco thought that some of the other kids had hidden them there to scare the others, but he wasn't frightened by them at all.

Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in two green chairs, probably waiting on Draco to show up. He wasn't sure how long he had walked about, but it had been a while. He supposed it was rather late.

"Where have you been?" Goyle asked in his deep voice.

"Yes," Crabbe agreed, "And what came over you at supper?"

Draco sat down in an empty chair, "I just... have a lot on my mind," he said carefully, knowing that Crabbe's father was also a Death Eater.

"Somethin' in particular?" Goyle drawled.

"It's none of your business, Goyle!" Draco snapped, losing his patience. "If I wanted to talk about it, I would talk about it! Leave me alone, okay?!"

He sprung out of his seat and flew up the spiral staircase to the dormitory, hoping for some peace. It was a rare thing for him to find at this point. He flung himself onto his unmade bed and jerked the covers over himself, thinking perhaps sleep would bring calmness, but he kept hearing noises - the wind against the windows, an occasional snore from one of his housemates, the slither of the snakes that were said to live in the walls of the dungeon. No matter how small, they woke him, and he could not fall asleep.

"_Silencio_," he whispered as he flicked his wand in an attempt to protect himself from the sound.

The noise faded away, allowing him to drift into slumber, but it was not the peaceful slumber that he had hoped for. Dreams splashed before his eyes - vivid dreams that seemed like reality. He was alone in the common room, shivering from the chill that seemed to be coming from nowhere. He turned around slowly to find the Dark Lord himself looming like a giant over him; his snake-like face was so close to Draco's that Draco could feel the chill of his breath rushing over him. He realized that Voldemort was making it cold in the room, but he could not tell him to leave for he could not speak at all. Voldemort's colossal snake eyes turned to the side, looking at something lying on the floor. At first, Draco thought it was an animal, but when he came closer, he saw that it was an unconscious girl lying face down on the hard stone floor. He gently grabbed her shoulder and turned her over, revealing Hermione's beautiful face. But he couldn't see her under all the blood that gushed from her lips and the gash that was cut deep into her forehead. She was pale and cold like snow, and suddenly she awoke. Her mouth was trying to scream but instead of words, blood rushed out. Draco tried his hardest to call for help, but nothing would emerge from his throat. In a panic he began casting spells - spells that not even Dumbledore would know. He was in physical pain from the sight of her, and Voldemort began to laugh at his foolish efforts to save the one he loved. The Dark Lord began to change, losing his arms and legs, and in a matter of moments he was an enormous snake. He slipped through the open window and he hovered over the two kids. Then he struck...

Draco awoke, screaming and writhing in his bed. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson were lingering over him, which pissed him off a bit. No privacy whatsoever... He was still cold and sweating, but there was no sign of a snake or of a mangled Hermione. It was only a dream, and he didn't believe dreams meant anything anyway. It was just the things that he had been thinking about before he fell asleep, nothing more.

"Wow..." Pansy was saying, eyes wide, "I thought you were never going to stop dreaming."

"Shutup, Pansy," Draco retorted. "If you tell anyone I swear I will hang you by your hair for a month."

"I wasn't going to tell anyone..." Pansy blushed. "Except it was kind of funny when you were yelling and you said 'Worm eye on me! Worm eye on me!'. We all really got a kick out of that."

Draco tried to hold his features together, but on the inside he was panicking. At least they didn't know what he was really saying. If he didn't stop worrying about all this though, someone would eventually hear him, and it wouldn't stay quiet for long. The two of them were the most unlikely couple in all of Hogwarts, but maybe not completely out of the question... or so he hoped.

"What time is it?" Draco said, tiredness garbling his speech.

"Nine in the mornin'," Crabbe rumbled.

"About time for Defense Against the Dark Arts, eh?" Draco smirked, sliding out of bed. "Or with bloody Carrow, shall we just say Dark Arts?"

Crabbe and Goyle laughed because the Dark Arts wasn't something to defend themselves from - at least not in their eyes - and because the new teacher, Amycus Carrow, was a Death Eater that was brought in by the Ministry of Magic under Voldemort's control, he taught in quite a different style than previous professors. And even though Draco had made the joke and he had smiled on the outside, his heart was far from laughing. In fact, he found it anything but funny.

When he stood up, he remembered that he hadn't bothered changing out of his school robes the night before. They hung from his shoulders, heavy and dark. The Slytherin House coat of arms was embroidered on the left side of his chest - a silver snake on a green field. The snake was chosen by Salazar Slytherin - the founder of the House - due to his ability to communicate with snakes - a haunting talent called Parseltongue. It was said that only a handful of people - mostly Dark wizards - possessed the skill, including Voldemort.

"Shall we be going then?" Pansy asked in her soprano voice.

Draco answered by walking powerfully ahead, his robes billowing behind him. The others followed faithfully at his heel, just like always - their eyes lingering on his every move. They always waited for him to lead. Don't be deceived ; he liked the attention, but it was easy to lead when your followers were dimwits. Despite Draco's silent dislike of him, Voldemort was the strongest leader he had ever encountered. He led a pack of intelligent people, while still managing to maintain their undying loyalty to him. Perhaps he was manipulative and cruel, but he held his ranks together respectably, which was more than most men could stand to say. And for that, Draco had to admire him.

The four of them wound through the dungeon catacombs, back to the Entrance Hall, where many kids from different Houses were mingling before class. Some of them acknowledged Draco and his group, giving them a wave or a nod; others glared at them, their eyes hidden behind frightful lashes. All of them carried with them a subtle fear at their presence. Most everyone had heard the rumors that Draco's father was on a friendly basis with Voldemort, and this knowledge showed with every wary face he passed. But he had been used to it for a while now. It wasn't as if his family's wizarding status was news to anyone...

They turned right , up the Grand Staircase into a corridor. It was long with several staircases branching off to different floors, and like the Entrance Hall, it was also bustling with students. Kids lined the edges of the swiveling staircases - floating from floor to floor. Above them, hundreds of other staircases hovered and spun, carrying students to their desired destination. The Slytherins took the second staircase on the left, lifting them to the first floor. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle took a right off the stairs headed for Dark Arts while Pansy took a left towards History of Magic.

As the trio neared the Dark Arts classroom, Draco's palms began to sweat and shake. His teeth were clenched as he passed her, trying not to look at her perfectly sculpted face or breath her intoxicating perfume. She was leaning against the stony wall just outside the threshold, Ron Weasley hanging over her awkwardly, and Draco refused to let himself believe that could be him standing there. It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore her - though he was not sure why. She seemed to be around all the time but with unpleasant things attached to her hip. Of course there was a way around it, he thought maliciously. There was always a way around it.

He stepped into the class, several students already settled in their seats, and placed his books on the desk in the very back corner of the room. He enjoyed sitting in the back; he could pretend to listen and instead daydream there, and besides, he had an ulterior motive. Ron and Hermione sat directly in front of him, holding hands much of the time, which made him rather ill at his stomach, but from where he sat he could think about how badly he wanted her to be his - if he would risk his place on the Malfoy family tree for her, and it never failed to be true. He would give his family - no doubt - and his life - if need be - if only he could hold her and call her his own.

The two of them came in now, extremely close, their shoulders rubbing, and Draco opened his book, pretending to study a page that was filled with lists of spells. He placed his head in one hand, his fingers gripping his white-blonde hair a bit too hard perhaps. She made a face at him as she sat in front him, her chestnut curls bouncing lively with every move she made. The fluidity of the locks stunned him, like waves of the ocean wrapping around and washing each other, and the sunlight pouring in from the high windows made the strands sparkle like diamonds. He found the sight quite mesmerizing.

Slowly, the seats in the room filled until there were none vacant, and Professor Carrow appeared from behind his desk. He was a squat man, with many facial deformities that caused his expression to resemble something of a snarl all the time. Draco remembered him from some the meetings the Death Eaters had held at his home - meetings in which Voldemort sat at the head of his dining table. The professors eyes looked upon him curiously now, and he smiled - his odd face forcing the smile to one side.

"Hello, class," Carrow said in a deep voice, his mouth contorting in strange ways as he spoke. "Welcome to your first week of Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Today we will be exploring the uses of the Three Unforgivable Curses, the Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and of course Avada Kadavra - the killing curse."

Many in the class gasped, but Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other with a hint of excitement in their eyes. Draco simply shrugged, as Carrow continued to stare at him. He had used the Cruciatus curse before, when Voldemort had instructed him to "take care" of the moaning prisoners he had been keeping hostage in the basement of the Malfoy Manor. And Yaxley had placed an Imperius curse on the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in order to help with Voldemort's total mutiny against the Ministry of Magic. And he had witnessed the Killing Curse at work...

"We'll start off with the most difficult. Draco, m'boy!" Carrow exclaimed. "Please come to the front."

Heads twisted in his direction as he obediently rose from his seat and went to stand by Carrow, passing Hermione on the way. He saw her glanced at his wand, while Ron clutched her hand protectively. Draco knew what he was going to be asked to do - utter the Killing curse.

Carrow went behind his desk and pulled something from beneath it - a cage containing a single brown owl. Draco became slightly calmer; at least he didn't have to execute it on a person. The owl chirped and cooed on its perch, calmly enjoying its surroundings, but little did it know the evil about to be inflicted upon it.

"Alright," Carrow grinned, yelling quite loudly. "Have a go at Avada Kadavra."

Draco pulled out his wand, trying his best to hold it steady. He stood there for a few seconds, hesitating just like he always did, the fallen faces that served as a toy for the Dark Lord's wand flashed before him, their souls dimished by the very spell he was being asked to cast. Carrow leaned in close to him. It appeared to the class that he was examining Draco's wand placement. Then he began to whisper to him, probably correcting his posture the class thought.

"Make us proud, boy. Show them that we are unafraid of punishment. Show them the wrath of the Dark Lord."

And then Draco realized the purpose of the exercise, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be part of it, proclaiming Voldemort's power. He was still shaking and had been frozen solid for a long while now. The class began to wonder if Carrow had petrified him with a charm of some sort, but the professor himself began to think the boy was too weak to smother the soul of a mere owl.

Draco relaxed and shook his head, "I can't."

"What?" Carrow said, brows furrowed and an angry tone creeping into his voice.

"It's not right..." Draco whispered, feeling brave.

Carrow looked taken aback and he muttered menacingly, "Are you questioning my methods, and the methods of your parents? I have begun to think you also interrogate the ways of the Death Eaters themselves, and perhaps, in turn, those of Voldemort..."

"I have begun to think so, too, Professor Carrow," Draco murmured fiercely, his eyes burning with tears.

And then he spun from the professor, his robes waving through the air. He heard the other students talking in low voices, maybe about him, maybe about the professor. Goyle and Crabbe gave him twin glances of bewilderment, and then disappointment. Hermione glowed internally, a joy emerging inside of her at the goodness she knew had resided in the boy all these years.

Draco could feel Carrow's eyes staring intently at the back of his head, anger and surprise filling them. He reached for the door, his hand almost to the handle.

"You walk out of this classroom, Draco, and you walk out on a lot more than a school lesson!" Carrow bellowed, threatening him.

The pale hand lingered on the black handle for a few moments, weighing the decision, but perhaps there was no decision to be made. Draco had already chosen, and he threw open the door without looking back.


	2. Chapter Two: Beginnings

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER TWO SUMMARY: Hermione and Ginny become apprehensive of Draco, while he is determined to have Hermione - and soon. But how to woo her?, he wonders.**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

* * *

_**Chapter Two: Beginnings**_

"_A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step."_

_- Lao Tzu_

The wind whistled between her soft, brown locks. It twisted the tendrils in random directions, like fingers whipping through the warm air. It was quite beautiful outside under the heat of the sun, and she very much enjoyed the way the light cast patterns of shadow from the towers onto the green grass at her feet.

There were many people milling about on the Grounds, but unlike them, Ron and Hermione were walking with a purpose. They had Herbology in the greenhouses this hour, which Hermione dreaded. It wasn't that she didn't find Mrs. Sprout's class helpful. It was simply that she found Professor Sprout to be, quite frankly, annoying. The overly-peppy way she spoke and how she would lengthen lessons with her long wind made Hermione go mad.

They were just passing the lake when something dark flickered in the outskirts of her vision, and she looked up, her eyes squinting against the blaring sun. Through her lashes she spotted him, hunched against a tree. He was hugging his knees close to his chest like a frightened child, and his facial features were twisted with a combination of emotions – panic, rage, sorrow. The sun made his tears glint on his face like diamonds mined from the gloomiest of caves. For a moment, she was unsure of the boy's identity, but his white-blond hair gave it away.

She stared over her shoulder at him in disbelief, her legs almost wanting to walk back and comfort him, but Ron's hand was latched to hers. She could do nothing but observe his pain, not that she would have gone out of her way to help that ferret anyway. When she thought about all the pain he had caused she and her friends, she wondered if he was even worth worrying about at all. Seeing him cry like that, however, was something that intrigued her, but she finally turned away as the pair approached the greenhouse entrance. So Draco Malfoy _does _have a heart, she thought.

And that bit of pondering was much more fascinating than anything Mrs. Sprout had to offer during the class, jumping about and cooing over her beloved plants. Hermione found her passion to be slightly eccentric, but she did respect the professor. She was, after all, very knowledgeable about the subject she taught. However, nothing could rival the fact that Draco Malfoy had a breaking point – a line he could not cross. Hermione knew it was logical, considering his behavior – which was probably a direct result of insecurity – that he was struggling, but she had never really paid that much attention to him. Now it all clicked in place, like recovering a final misplaced puzzle piece. Why hadn't she opened her eyes before?

She thought back to the trip on the Hogwarts Express the day before, how Draco had appeared troubled and depressed. She had thought at the time that it was because of his being practically friendless, but now she realized that his ache ran much, much deeper than that.

"Stupid…"

"What?" Ron whispered to her.

Hermione glanced up in surprise. She hadn't meant to say it aloud.

"Nothing…" she said quickly.

Ron gave her a perplexed stare but soon looked away, focusing his mind back on the lesson. Hermione absently wondered how in the world be could be so captivated by that obnoxious, sprightly woman.

"Now, you must be sure to de-thorn these tiny devils before you take them apart…" she warned happily, hovering maternally over a prickly Plutor Leaf. "The outer epidermis, if digested, can help ease hunger and, therefore, is very prevalent in weight loss programs…"

The professor tapped her rather round belly at this, which made Hermione believe that she had attempted this weight loss method a few times and obviously not succeeded in completing the process. Hermione scolded herself internally for being so rude, but she couldn't help herself. The thoughts just came to her.

"Professor…" said Neville Longbottom a few seats down from Hermione. "Aren't the juices also fireproof?"

"Yes, Neville," Professor Sprout smiled at her most talented herbology student. "The Plutor Leaf is very resistant to flames, and is therefore commonly used to coat broomsticks and wands so they will be somewhat protected against combustion. Very good!"

Hermione, bored, stared at the blazing sun through the glass roof of the greenhouse, waiting on it to appear directly in the center of the sky. She knew, then, that it would be time for lunch, and as the lecture continued, the yellowish orb floated closer to noon. Just as it grazed directly over her head, the bell rang in the distance, and, after Mrs. Sprout dismissed them, Hermione popped immediately from her chair and was the first student out the door. She impatiently waited on Ron outside of the class, and he smiled as he approached her, flicking his bright red hair from his eyes.

"You really hate that class don't you?" he said as he subtly reached for her hand.

Hermione pretended not to notice his fingers reaching for hers and rubbed her arms instead, "Yes."

"I don't find it too terrible…" Ron disagreed politely, taken slightly aback by Hermione's refusal to hold his hand. "Today was quite interesting I thought."

Hermione laughed and shoved Ron in the shoulder, "Says you."

She looked to her left now as they passed the spot on the lake where Malfoy had been crying, but he was no longer sitting there, probably gone off to lunch.

"Are you alright?" Ron asked, looking in the direction she was, trying to decipher what she was staring at. "What's over there?"

"Nothing…" Hermione replied. "I thought I saw something earlier, but it isn't there anymore."

Ron nodded, unconvinced, as they pushed into the crowded Great Hall, where lunch was being served. They entered the room side by side as the fresh aroma of bacon and steak filled Hermione's nostrils, and she let the smell linger in her brain as they walked towards the Gryffindor table where Ginny was sitting alone. The girl smiled but her eyes were downcast, signaling Hermione that there was something wrong, and she eyed Ginny closely as she sat down next to her.

"What's the matter, Ginny?" she asked, as an empty plate appeared before her.

Ron's head snapped up, for he had not noticed that his sister was upset, but then again, he was never adept at reading body language. Hermione began to fill her platter, eyes still fixated on her friend.

"Nothing…" Ginny said as she smiled weakly.

"Are you not hungry?" Ron asked as he stuffed his face with food and nodded to the plate that sat before her, untouched.

She hadn't even noticed it appear, and she sighed as he picked up a pair of tongs from the nearest basin and stuck it into a steak. She wasn't particularly hungry, but at least it would keep Hermione from fretting over her. With six older brothers, Merlin knew she didn't need anymore of that than she already had. Besides, the only thing on her mind – and basically the only thing ever on her mind these days – was Harry, and even though she knew he was perfectly safe with the Order, she still felt insecure to place him in hands other than her own. In fact, sitting here at Hogwarts, she felt rather useless.

"I think I might go for a bit of a walk…" Ginny announced as she scooted from the table.

"What do you mean?" Ron asked, worried. "Are you ill? You didn't even touch your food."

"No, no," Ginny waved a hand in the air. "I just need some air."

"Do you mind if I join you, Gin?" Hermione asked, hoping to talk Ginny out of her cross mood.

"Sure," Ginny smiled, glad for the company. "We will meet up with you later, Ron."

Ron grinned and nodded, understanding her needs, and he watched as the two girls left the Great Hall. They turned outside, heading towards the lake, the sun beating down on them. Both girls were elated at a chance to talk to each other in private, as there was normally someone else with them, but for a few moments, they allowed the rustling leaves and singing birds to do most of the chatting. The smell of sodden dirt wafted to their noses, giving them a comforted feeling. Ginny watched the ground as she prodded a stone along it with her foot.

"I know it's Harry…" Hermione said suddenly, squinting through the sunlight at Ginny. "It bothers all of us that he is out fighting this on his own, but I know it troubles you the most."

"It does," Ginny looked up, studying the way the lake sparkled. "I love him, Hermione. I can't help but be concerned for him."

Hermione sighed, "I wish I could say I understand how you feel."

Ginny's eyes turned to her now, "I take it then that Ron is just a friend? I mean, it doesn't impact me either way, but he seems to be under the impression that you are interested in him."

"I can't see Ron as anything more than a close friend, Ginny," Hermione said, playing with a lock of her hair. "He has always been kind and loyal, as a best friend should be, but he has never been a boyfriend."

"I understand…" Ginny whispered kindly as she stared ahead at a thick bunch of trees.

As she looked, her eye caught something, moving slowly along the water's edge, and the more she studied it, the more it resembled Draco Malfoy, tossing rocks in the rippling water with an languid hand. He had his back towards them, but as always, his hair was a giveaway. He was scuffing his feet lethargically over the pebbled bank, not seeming to be walking to an specific place, just walking.

Curious, Ginny nudged Hermione in the arm and whispered, "Do my eyes deceive me or is that who I think it is?"

Hermione peered through the trees, and she was surprised to find him alone at the lake again, "Draco Malfoy…"

"Reckon he is up to something?" Ginny asked, trying not to stare.

Hermione rolled her eyes, "When is he _not _up to something?"

Draco glanced up, feeling eyes on his shoulder, and for the briefest moment, his eyes met hers. His heart pounded in his chest as he prayed that she did not glimpse the anxiety in his eyes, the longing to have his love for her returned. But her gaze did not stay behind long, floating elsewhere, his predicament already shoved to the back of her mind. What worry was it of hers how he felt? Why should she be concerned for him? And he watched her chestnut curls bounce behind her as she talked seriously to her Weasley friend.

Draco tossed yet another rock across the lake, watching it skid over the waves. He counted the jumps. One. Two. Three. He rather enjoyed skipping stones, challenging himself to see how many times he could get the rock to skip before it finally sank below the surface. He had never surpassed four jumps, even in the countless times he had tried. Skipping stones, however, was just one area of his life where he was stuck, among many, many others.

The incident in Dark Arts was embedded in his mind and had been ever since it had occurred. Courtesy of his brilliant stupidity, he was now unsure of whose side he was on. Surely he wasn't thrown in the ranks with Potter and Weasley – though perhaps he could tolerate a certain gorgeous face on the other side. Of course, he could be overreacting. Maybe his alliance with the Death Eaters had not ended just yet; maybe he still had a chance to prove to his father that he was strong enough to follow in his footsteps instead of continuously disappointing him. Draco frantically hoped so.

Hermione walked into the Charms classroom, which, to her surprise, was vacant, and feeling awkward to be alone, she decided to step into the corridor and find someone to talk to until the bell rang. She had just passed under the threshold seconds before when someone rammed into her, knocking her to the ground. She extended her hand to catch her fall, and as her palm hit the rugged stone floor, a sharp pain shot through it. She inhaled quickly at the brief but intense stinging as she lifted her hand off the ground. The rock below was stained crimson with her blood, and unwillingly, she turned her hand over to find that the rough stone had chaffed off half of her skin, the underlying layer bleeding rather freely. Angry at the person who ran into her for they had not bothered to apologize, she looked up.

Then suddenly she knew who it was. He had just spun from her, his robes flapping behind him as he hurried in the other direction. That worthless Death Eater; she should have known it would be him. But one thing she did not expect was a tingling sensation on her palm, and as she looked, she saw that the skin was knitting itself back together, returning to its normal position. Hermione's eyes shot around, scanning the crowd for someone who might have tried to repair her hand. She was most likely mistaken, but she could have sworn she saw Draco Malfoy's wand flash over his shoulder.

She picked herself up from the floor, people beginning to stare at her, as she dusted off her robes and rushed back into the classroom. There was still no one present as of yet, but she didn't dare go back in the hallway for fear of having a limb detached. She decided to remain safe and pulled out a sheet of parchment, writing down the day's assignment, which was scribbled on the blackboard. When she was finished with that, she open her textbook and began to read the first chapter.

She had just started the fourth page when the bell rang, causing her to jump slightly. Her head shot up, as she looked around. The class had filled up while she was lost in her book, every seat taken. A scraping sound filled the room, several eyes darting around, searching for the source, and suddenly Professor Flitwick appeared from behind his desk, dragging a stool with difficulty across the floor. Some children in the room giggled at his humorous attempts to move the seat, while others watched indifferently. Hermione hopped from her chair and grabbed the stool gently from the small man, moving it to the center of the space.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," the professor smiled at her from below her waist.

"Your welcome, Professor," she replied, sitting down in her seat once more.

Blaise Zabini rolled his eyes at her. Many students, especially Slytherins, mocked Professor Flitwick for his height – or apparent lack thereof – but Hermione did not discriminate against him for his half-dwarf blood. However, she did not favor him because of that fact either; she still rather disliked his homework, which rivaled McGonagall's in quantity

"Hello, students!" the professor squeaked, clamoring up the stool. "Welcome to Seventh Year Charms. At this level you will be studying for N.E.W.T.'s, and I must warn you that most of this class will be a review of everything you have learned over the years. Please note I will not tolerate complaints about relearning any of the charms I teach, as it _is_ a review, and it _is _familiar material to you.

"Now, we will begin with conjuring charms, something you should have learned last year in this class. Recall that not all items can be conjured – food being one of these items – albeit there are certain sauces that can be. This is very useful when you desire flavor without the calories; after consumption, the condiments will vanish, as do all conjured objects, eventually. The first charm we will relearn is _aguamenti_ – the water-producing charm." He waved his wand over the room, champagne glasses appearing before each student. "Fill your cups with water, and then use the drying charm _siccusi_ to empty them again. Continue this until I call for you to stop. Please begin."

The class began to move, filled with whispering spells, and water splashed and gurgled in the glass containers. Hermione was quite bored as _aguamenti_ was a very elementary spell, but she supposed they had to start somewhere. Minutes passed slowly, but as she emptied her glass for at least the thousandth time, Professor Flitwick instructed them to stop. Then, to no one's surprise, he began to hand out assignments, ordering them to read the first chapter of their textbook and write a summary about it. Hermione was happy to have something to keep her occupied at night besides sitting awkwardly in the common room with Ron.

The professor was still shouting the homework as Hermione stepped into the hallway. She went back to the floating staircases and stepped onto one that would carry her to the seventh floor, and would also get her closest to McGonagall's classroom. As usual, the class was directly in front of the staircase when it clicked to a halt, but Hermione suddenly did not want to get off.

Draco was standing coolly against the wall, his arms crossed, and one of his legs resting on the stone behind him. She froze, not looking forward to this class now, but she soon regained her composure and brushed past him, eyes focused dead ahead. She did, however, glimpse his head whip in her direction as she entered the class, and she heard his footsteps as he turned swiftly in the door behind her. Why was he always looking for methods to torment her?

"Everyone please remain standing!" McGonagall ordered the class. "I will assign seats."

The class groaned collectively, each student hoping for a decent partner at the double-chaired desks. Hermione already knew who she was going to be paired with, considering McGonagall's dogged attempts to bring them together. Her heart collapsed at the thought, and her hands began to shake as Draco stood confidently behind her, eyebrow cocked arrogantly on his forehead.

"Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger…" McGonagall instructed as she tapped an empty desk.

Her worst nightmare confirmed, she willed herself to walk to the designated desk. Several faces flashed her expressions of sympathy as the Slytherins laughed behind their binders. Hermione rolled her eyes, but he smirked, probably looking forward to torturing a Mudblood. In truth, however, that was the farthest thing from his mind.

Panicked and trying to avoid conversation, Hermione stuck her head in the thick book before her, pretending to read. Draco glanced at her, recognizing what she was getting at. Her brown eyes were not moving at all, just staring blankly at the words.

"What in the bloody heck are you doing, Mudblood?" he scoffed. "Having to study harder than the rest of us because of your _disadvantage? _I understand that being raised by Muggles might have some hindrance on your education…"

Hermione's eyes floated to him, offended. Not many things upset her normally, but insults to her intellect did. This instance was no exception.

"Hmm…" Hermione hummed, tapping her chin cynically. "I might have been raised by Muggles, but your pureblood status doesn't seem to benefit you academically. Who is at the disadvantage then?"

"Still you…" he replied dumbly, unsure of a comeback.

"Wow…" Hermione whispered in mock amazement as she stared in her book. "Your lightning quick wit astounds me, Malfoy."

"Whatever, Granger…"

Draco turned away, secretly cursing himself for being so cruel to her, but whenever he was around her, his brain turned to ice and only insults would escape. Besides, he couldn't treat her well in public, surrounded by so many prying eyes. It has always been that way, and he feared it would never change.

Hermione glanced up. Professor McGonagall stood before the class, having just completed seating all of her students. She observed them with smiling eyes, that sat behind her small glasses.

"Welcome to seventh year Transfiguration!" she beamed, opening her arms in greeting. "During this class, you will learn how to change the form and appearance of several objects. Most of you were in my class last year and found that it was less than simple," she glanced at Draco, who blushed. "And I assure you, it will be no easier this year, but with a bit of help and hard work, all of you will pass the N.E.W.T. for my class." She stepped behind her desk, flipping to a page in the _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_. "Now, today will be a review of some of the spells we learned last year, and we shall begin with human transfigurations."

Hermione felt Draco tense beside her, remembering the incident he had had in fourth year, in which Mad-Eye Moddy had transformed him into a small albino ferret. She couldn't help but giggle as she recalled how he scurried all over the room and how irate he had been when Mad-Eye turned him human again.

"Now, there are numerous kinds of human transfiguration," McGonagall continued. "One of them is transforming into an animal for the purpose of obtaining certain qualities in order to perform a specific task. For example, if I wished to breathe underwater for whatever reason, I would transfigure into a fish or a frog, or I would turn into a bird perhaps, if I wanted to fly. This transfiguration is much more simple than that of an Animagus. Becoming an Animagus is a very, long and sometimes very painful process in which the animal you become is not of your choosing, but once mastered, you can transform into the animal whenever you wish…"

And suddenly her features began to shrink and seconds later, in her place was a grey, striped cat. She leapt onto a bookshelf with such graceful agility that Hermione found it hard to believe that this was Professor McGonagall. Of course, everyone already knew that McGonagall was an Animagus, but it was still odd to see her transfigure back and forth between human and feline. She mewed as she jumped, morphing into her human self as she did.

"We will start with a simple spell to turn your partner into a rabbit using the spell _verto lepus,"_ she commanded. "You may begin."

Soon, after Hermione and Draco had forcibly transformed each other successfully at least one hundred times, the class was over, and Hermione began to gather her things. Draco, who had sprung from his seat, took his time walking to the door, and as Hermione passed him, he extended his finger for the briefest of moments to brush her hand. And, as if nothing had happened, he stepped onto a staircase, headed towards the first floor and the Slytherin Common Room.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, stunned. Surely it had been purely accidental, that gentle tap on the back of her hand. He would never touch her deliberately, would he? And realizing that she was standing in the middle of the doorway, she shook the thought quickly out of her mind, turning left to the Gryffindor Common Room to ready herself for dinner.

Draco arrived in the Entrance Hall, passing a group of chatty girls as he turned quickly to his right, swinging open the heavy door to the dungeons and descending slowly down the steps. Pansy was standing with Millicent Bulstrode and Daphne Greengrass in an alcove at the base of the stairs, and he could feel her glaring at him from behind her brunette bangs.

"Petrified eyes, Pansy?" he asked cynically as he continued walking. "Or do you have a problem keeping them to yourself?"

She didn't reply as he rounded the corner, receiving more disgusted gazes from people he barely knew. _Word of betrayal travels fast among the witless,_ he thought as he inhaled deeply and unwillingly spoke the Common Room password.

He had heard the commotion of casual conversation before he opened the door, but as the stones slid back and he stepped forward, all sound ceased. Eyes stared at him, coming from all directions, and he acknowledged each pair as he walked across the room to the boys' dormitory. He was almost there, his embarrassment threatening to escape, when a voice called behind him.

"I'm surprised you have the backbone to show up here, Malfoy."

Draco spun around on his heel, hand grasping his wand beneath his robes. It was Goyle, stepping out of the crowd of students that were gathered in a half-circle on the opposite side of the room. His face was confident and unafraid, but Draco seemed to be collected, no sign of emotion written on his face.

"After what happened in Dark Arts this morning, I would have thought you would surely run away like a little, squealing girl," Goyle continued his mockery.

"Oh really?" Draco said, cocking his head to the side. "You must have me mistaken for someone such as yourself because as I recall it, Goyle, you don't show your face at any of the Death Eater gatherings. You hide behind your father's thick waist. Am I supposed to consider that to be bravery?"

Goyle looked surprised at Draco's sudden comeback but managed to stutter, "I… You can't… That has nothing to do with this, Draco!"

"Oh…" Draco nodded, leaning against the wall now. "My mistake, I thought that you were calling me a coward so I only thought it fair to point out your own displays of weakness. But if that is not the argument, then please enlighten me…"

The common room was silent, all eyes locked on Draco, who was governing the spotlight as always. Gregory Goyle was at a loss of words, his mouth opening and closing in vain attempts to force something from it. Draco raised his eyebrows, shaking his head, as if signaling his victory in the verbal battle, and then when Goyle didn't respond, he flung open the door, leaving the rest of the Slytherins standing wordlessly behind him.

Hermione, Ginny, and Ron were laughing as they threw open the doors to the Great Hall, but their mirth was drown out by the excessive noise in the hall. They sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table, as usual, smiling at people they knew. Hermione was barely conscious of a pair of eyes on the back of her neck, sweeping over her shoulders like a tiny gnat.

"So how was your day, Hermione?" Ron asked, filling a bowl with some sort of soup.

"Other than, getting followed around by Malfoy all day, it was spectacular," she replied.

"He followed you?" Ginny asked, furrowing her thin brows.

"Well…" Hermione paused. "Not exactly. He just happened to be where I was. He knocked me down once, and then I had to sit by him in Transfiguration. I swear McGonagall is determined to have us befriended if it takes her to her deathbed."

Ron snorted, "That'll be the day…"

Ginny gasped and whacked him on the arm, "Ron! You are so cruel sometimes!"

Ron stared at his sister with wide eyes as she smirked at Hermione. Hermione simply giggled, looking down at her plate while Ginny and Ron bickered playfully. But she did not see the empty plate she expected to find.

A lavender rose was laid carefully across the platter, its petals curling about each other, creating a natural work of art, and although it was simple, its complex beauty took her breath away. She looked at Ron and Ginny, who had not noticed the flower appear, and as much as she enjoyed him, she knew Ron could never think of something so romantic. She picked it up, turning away from Ginny and Ron and twisting the stem between her fingers. A small tag thumped her hand, the corner poking her thumb, and she delicately flipped the paper over. Inscribed in ink on the opposite side was a handwritten poem that read:

My heart does ache inside my chest

when I glimpse your angel face

A rose for you, my secret love

as I wish for your embrace.

She gasped at the eloquence of the words, and puzzled, she began to search for the author of them, but no one was even looking in her direction, and eyebrows drawn to a "v" she lowered her head once more only to find the rose had disappeared as quickly as it had been conjured, leaving behind the brown paper she held in her hand.

Hastily, before Ginny or Ron asked questions, she pocketed the poem and began to fill her plate, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. The flower had sparked her curiosity, however, and it was the only thing buzzing about in her brain at the moment. She wished she had been able to save the rose for it had been so beautiful… She was thankful at least for the wondrous poem, and longed to find the boy who was waiting to steal her heart, who would write her words like this everyday and mean them, down to the very fiber of his being.

The morning came all too soon as Hermione stirred in her bed, stretching her arms, as if she could float to breakfast. She wished it was so, but just as everyone else had had to do that morning, she slithered from beneath the covers, her feet landing with a muffled thump on the cold, stone floor. The chilliness of the rock brought her to her senses, shaking her mind awake. Stimulated, she came to her suitcase, which lay by her bed, and she threw open the flap. She had just pulled out her robes when something fluttered to the floor, and perplexed, she bent over to pick it up. As she looked at it, she remembered she had stuck the poem she had mysteriously received at dinner last night into her pocket. It must have fallen out when she took off her robes before going off to bed the previous night.

Rereading it and smiling, she pushed the note into her pocket once more and began to prepare for the day, putting on what little makeup she wore and sliding into her school robes. It didn't take her long and soon she was tromping off to breakfast. Her hand rested on the Great Hall door as it sprang open, the sound bouncing off the Entrance Hall's high ceiling. To her surprise, a disgruntled Draco Malfoy exited, storming out to the Grounds. She almost turned to follow him, but decided against it, thinking he could work out his own problems. Draco Malfoy would never need her help.

She shook her head, as she entered the Great Hall, but she didn't make it far when silence stopped her in her tracks. It had never been totally still in this room possibly in the history of Hogwarts – ever – and embarrassed to walk in at such a time, Hermione lowered her eyes and sat down next to Ron.

"Just missed it," Ginny whispered, breaking the stillness. "Malfoy completely lost his temper, started yelling and even had his wand pulled on Pansy Parkinson before he stormed off out the door. Snape practically jumped out of his trousers to go after him."

"Yes, I caught him on his journey out," Hermione nodded. "He seemed rather out of sorts."

"Out of sorts?!" Ron said, raising his eyebrows. "The bloke is a lunatic!"

Hermione turned to look at the thick doors, her curls almost smacking Ron in the face. Malfoy was honestly losing his marbles. Hermione wasn't sure she had seen this much emotion out of him in her life – and all in the span of three days! She wondered if something was the matter, if he was planning something, because the only other time she remembered him being this full of angst was last year when he had been doing Voldemort's bidding.

"He's up to something…" Hermione thought out loud. "He only opens up like this when he is up to something…"

"But what could he possibly be up to, Hermione?" Ron retorted. "Do you think You-Know-Who would dare assign him a mission when he could not complete the last? Besides, he only blew up because the Slytherins are shunning him. I reckon it's because of that Dark Arts lesson earlier this week. Got his back stabbed by those bumbling idiots, which serves him right, getting a taste of his own…"

Hermione agreed but did not say so. She was too busy thinking, too busy feeling uneasy, too busy fingering the tiny slip of paper that sat quietly in her pocket. The touch of it burned her fingers, and she pulled it out of her robes, staring at the poem, and as she did this, the words faded away. New writing appeared, as if someone was writing it directly in front of her eyes, and slowly, it formed a fresh lyric.

I cannot speak nor can I breathe

without you by my side.

My life is empty without yours,

my heart a darkened sky.

Draco walked along the empty bank, nothing moving but his own feet. There was no one here to judge him, no one here to ridicule him unless it was his own reflection in the glassy water. He did not skip rocks this time for he knew he would fail, and another failure was something he would try to avoid at all costs. Why was it that he could please no one? His father was never proud of him. There never failed to be something to criticize when Lucius spoke to him, which wasn't often enough to matter. The people he thought accepted him had thrown him away like yesterday's newspaper, no warning, no warm farewells. He was more alone than he ever thought bell for first period rang, echoing over the Grounds, but Draco did not hesitate or change direction. He was not attending any of his classes today, he had decided. After he had taken his frustration out on Pansy during breakfast, he wasn't sure his treatment would be much improved. He didn't know why he had lashed out at her in that way, although perhaps it had something to do with her persistent nagging. But he knew better. He had reached the peak of his frustration, and it had to be released. He always bottled up his anger and fear, and whenever it was too much for him to keep inside, he let it flow out of him and torment whomever happened to be in the vicinity at the time. He didn't even recall what he had said to Pansy, but he didn't particularly care…

He was relieved that Hermione had not been there to witness it, as he had passed her on his way out, but the Weasleys ratted on him, no doubt. Absently he wondered if Hermione had kept the slip of paper, if she had enjoyed the surprise at dinner last night. He had been so hesitant to send the rose to her that he had almost changed his mind at the last minute, but if Draco knew Hermione at all, she was curious. And he would soon have her…

Hermione sat in Transfigurations, her eyes scanning the room. Perhaps one of the boys present could be her secret admirer. She searched for a shy gaze or a whisper to a friend, a laugh, but she found none of these things. Disappointed, she turned back to her reading, hoping no one had seen her glance up. Malfoy had not been in any of his classes today, which made Hermione very nervous. What could Malfoy possibly be doing during a full day of school if not getting into mischief? Was it in his nature to avoid trouble? Hermione doubted so, and this thought made her shiver as she remembered painfully what that dreadful boy had caused last year, the death that would not have been possible without him.

Hermione had her jaw clenched tightly as she finished reading her assignment, and in her annoyance, she slapped the book shut, causing an extremely loud pop. Professor McGonagall's head popped up from behind a book, her eyes silently scolding Hermione. She looked around, embarrassed as she laid her head on her desk, trying to calm her nerves. She would not let Malfoy destroy someone else's life, and in that moment, she vowed to find what he was up to and stop him.

The bell chimed in her ears, and she saw several students jump in shock as the sound echoed throughout the halls. McGonagall dismissed them, sending them to their houses and subsequently, to dinner. Hermione wasted no time as she entered the Common Room, meeting Ginny at the door and smiling. She rushed up the steps to the girls' dormitory and carelessly threw her books onto her bed, and after checking her reflection in the mirror, she walked briskly downstairs to dinner.

Malfoy was absent at dinner also, only adding to Hermione's suspicions and uneasiness. Something was happening, something terrible; she could sense it, the danger swirling about her even when he wasn't close by. But he was executing it in secret, perhaps trying to win favor with Voldemort once more, that grimy Death Eater.

"I haven't noticed Malfoy anywhere today…" Hermione voiced her thoughts.

Ron shrugged while Ginny crinkled her eyebrows.

"I haven't either," Ginny admitted. "Maybe you are right, Hermione. Maybe something is happening."

"You two have overactive imaginations…" Ron said accusingly. "Who in their right mind would hire Malfoy for a job? He can't even pass Charms, let alone follow an intricate evil scheme. The both of you need to relax. Nothing is wrong."

The girls did not reply, as they began to eat, Draco Malfoy floating to the very back of their minds. They talked about other, more cheerful things like the summer holiday and funny occurrences from that day. Ginny said that Blaise Zabini had gotten so frustrated in Potions class that his concoction had exploded all over Professor Snape, the image of which made Hermione and Ron laugh. Not only had Professor Snape been demoted back to Potions Master, he had also been denied a position as Headmaster. In fact, as Harry had explained it over the summer, Dumbledore had refused for it to be so, fearing the controversy it would spark. They had, after all, planned for Snape to murder him on the astronomy tower, and surely his promotion to Headmaster would not have been a likely decision to people who did not know the full story…

Suddenly, Ginny's face became worried as she dug in her pocket.

Pulling out an envelope, she said, "Oh! I completely forgot! I promised Luna I would help her research a report in the library tonight. Ron, could you drop this letter by the owlery and send it to mum?"

Ron stared at the letter that Ginny was holding in his face, "You have two functional legs, Ginny. Put them to good use."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron, "I'll take it for you, Ginny. I need some fresh air anyway…"

"Would you really, Hermione?" Ginny beamed. "Thank you so much!"

And Hermione took the envelope, glaring at Ron as she did. He was so lazy sometimes!

Hermione completed her meal, and without further ado, she said goodbye and rose from the table. She walked outside, feeling tiny drops of rain beginning to fall, the cold sprinkles tapping her shoulders. A strong wind blew, and she shivered, the raindrops becoming larger, hitting her face. They made the leaves sigh overhead as they pounded the canopy of trees above her. She tucked the letter under her robes to keep it from getting soggy, and, pulling her hood over head, she walked across the grounds on her way to the owlery. The Weasley's had a family owl named Errol contained in the Hogwarts owlery, and that is the owl she assumed Ginny wished for her to use. She hoped so anyway.

Hermione stared at the lake as she passed, the heavy drops making the water a glittering display of tiny waves. And then she stopped walking as she saw him. His hood was up like hers, but she knew who it was. No one else she knew was crazy enough to walk along the lake in the pouring rain, and without realizing it, she began to turn in his direction.

"Are you following me, Granger?" he asked, suddenly, his back still facing her. "Or is it normal for Mudbloods to stalk people?"

Hermione was taken aback by his observance.

"I… um…"

Draco had ceased walking now, dropping the stones he had been carrying and throwing in the water. The rocks blended with the ones at his feet, hiding themselves. His eyes were narrowed suspiciously, and he was coming slowly towards her.

"You what?" he spat at her.

"I was… um…headed towards the owlery…" she replied nervously.

"And you just happened to walk into me. Is that what your stuttering about? The owlery is in that direction…" Draco said, his finger pointed farther along the lake, his face a foot away from her now. "Granger, I told you before that you are a terrible actress, and that fact still holds true now. So tell me what you were really out here for… Were you worried about me?"

She took a step back, uncomfortable with his closeness. He laughed at her fear, her eyes like a blinded animal, and he continued his advance.

"No!" she cried, as her head hit the trunk of a tree, stopping her in her tracks. "I was just… doing a favor for a friend."

He rested his hands on the tree, his arms blocking any escape she might have had before. He was only a few inches from her now, his breath rushing past her frightened face. She closed her eyes.

"You know," he replied in a whisper, "sometimes you should leave people to do their own favors."

Startled, she ducked under his arm, but he caught her swiftly around the waist, pulling her into him. She struggled, trying to break free, but he was holding her fast.

"What is wrong with you?!" she screamed, beating his arms with her fisted hands. "Let me go, you disgusting pig!"

"Not until you tell me the truth," he said seriously, blowing the words into her ear. "Tell me you were upset for me…"

"Draco!" she cried. "Stop it! I wasn't upset! Just let me go please!"

He released her then, letting her feet rest safely on the ground, and even though her brain was shouting at her to run, her feet would not move. Why was he acting so strange? It was sincerely beginning to scare her, and she stood silent, staring at him and trying to figure out why he was so different. Then she saw it, floating in his silver eyes, a desire that hadn't been there before.

"Thank you…" she huffed, dusting herself off.

She then turned in the direction of the owlery, determined not to let Malfoy distract her, but she knew he would try anyway. He followed her, not closely but close enough to be obnoxious, and as she stomped through the wet dirt, she could hear his shoes clicking in and out of the mud behind her. She sped up, trying to make him leave her alone, but he only copied her change in pace, causing her to become more and more frustrated.

"Could you please stop following me?" she called to him over the rain as she entered the owl barn, her robes dripping with water.

"I could… but I don't really want to," Draco yelled back.

"You're about to want to…" Hermione retorted, waving her wand threateningly over her shoulder.

"No, I know what I want, Granger…" Draco said, his voice very close now.

Then, fed up with him, Hermione spun around on her heel, about to make a smart aleck comment, but when she did, her words were cut short. Draco's face was right in front of her, less than half a foot away, and her breath caught in her throat. She had never seen him this close before, nor had she ever noticed how attractive he was, with lips that hung slightly imbalanced on his face and a nose that was so perfectly swooped above them, water dripping from the end. His face was glistening with droplets of water, and his white hair was turned a darker blonde by the rain, strands sticking to his forehead. His eyes were like silver knifes, piercing her heart, and she couldn't help but enjoy it.

"A kiss…" he whispered.

Hermione blinked, her mind spinning, "Wait. That was _you_? Everything? My hand, the flower, the poems?"

Draco smirked, "Caught me, Granger."

"But… but… That was _you?_ It was so… beautiful, though. How could it have been you?"

"What, you don't think I know how to be cordial?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I'm not a troll, Granger."

"That's debatable…"

"Oh, come on…" Draco sighed. "Just give me one tiny kiss. If you don't like it then I promise I'll leave you alone."

"Can we skip the kiss and just get to the leaving me alone part?"

Draco pulled away a bit, unsheathing his wand, "I'll make you."

"I'm sure you will, Mal – "

"_Confundus,_" he whispered.

Abruptly, Hermione's brain became more fuzzy than before. Draco was smiling at her rather menacingly, but she didn't know exactly how to respond. Her eyes were unfocused, looking at him but past him, a perplexed expression crossing her face. She wished he would tell her what to do; yes, that would be most helpful.

"Kiss me, Hermione Granger," he murmured, his rough voice echoing inside of her head like a call down a canyon.

And thankful for some sort of instruction, Hermione leaned into him gently, sticking her lips out for him to capture. He trapped them, pulling them into his mouth, and he smiled for he had gotten what he had been longing for, even if it had been unfairly bought. Hermione did not break the connection, her lips remaining firmly on his, and even if she wasn't in her right mind, she had to admit that it felt a bit… good – his lips on hers.

That was when she released him and gently pushed him away. His face was slightly disappointed at the sudden end to their kiss. Hermione looked terrified and bewildered, as her thoughts spun in her head. They dizzied her, turning the world in circles, and she forced herself to remain still for fear of toppling over. What was she thinking? What had just happened? And abruptly, not knowing quite what else to do, she slapped him, her palm smacking his cheek so hard that her skin singed. Upon contact, there was a loud pop that echoed in the barn, causing several owls to flutter fearfully in their enclosures.

But his reaction was not what she expected it to be. Instead of being ashamed, he beamed, mouth threatening to laugh. He had achieved his goal, and his only challenge now was making it real. He was sure, however, that it would take no time at all now that he had kissed her, now that he had shown her that he could be a gentleman, although he wasn't sure how gentlemanlike it was to trick a woman into kissing you but…

Hermione stomped over to Errol's coop, enraged at Malfoy's nerve. The large, grey owl eyed her apprehensively with eerie golden eyes as she gently grabbed his ankle and tied the note to it.

She stroked his chest lovingly as she spoke to him, "Take this to the Burrow. To Molly."

She watched as the owl cooed and beat its wings, shooting from its perch off into the damp night. Hermione prayed the letter would get to the Burrow safely; otherwise, it could be catastrophic. But the safety of the letter was the farthest thing from her mind right now. She stormed past Draco.

"I hate you, Malfoy…" she muttered, as she took off onto the Grounds, her hair sticking to her cheekbones.

"You might hate me," Draco called after her, "but you didn't hate that kiss!"

"Goodnight, Malfoy!" Hermione called uninterestedly as she threw open the door to the Entrance Hall.

She left Draco Malfoy standing in the rain, a smug grin spreading across his sopping face as he whispered, "Goodnight, Granger."

Hermione was waiting on a staircase to take her to the seventh floor, but she had been so preoccupied in her thoughts that she hadn't seen several come and go. She couldn't stop thinking about that low-leveled, inconsiderate prick! She didn't care how many nice things he wrote to her on his stupid magical piece of paper; forcing her to kiss him was completely uncalled for. But then again, something about it – although she swore never to admit it – was strangely wonderful, like being swindled into a cheap yet magnificent prize. Her thoughts went on like this, toggling between love and hate, need and want, fantasy and reality. She couldn't choose which she would rather have. Part of her longed for another rose, another poem, another kiss, while the other part - the dominant part – wanted nothing more than to hex Draco Malfoy into next week.

Finally, Hermione realized that she was still standing stupidly in front of the staircases, waiting on the steps that had arrived at least a dozen times already, and she boarded them. She took a right off the staircase and came to the Fat Lady's portrait. Upon mumbling the password, the door clicked open, and she entered the Gryffindor Common Room. Ron was sitting quietly on the loveseat, staring at nothing in particular, and he looked up as Hermione approached, his eyes tired.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione!" he exclaimed. "Take your time, won't you? I've been waiting up here for eternity. Ginny would be with me, too, but she's off in the library with Luna…"

"Sorry for your agonizing wait, Ron," Hermione said laughing, "but I think I'm going to go to bed…"

Hermione witnessed his face drop dramatically, his playful grin turned into utter disappointment, "Well alight then. I suppose I'll be going to bed too then…"

"Goodnight, Ron," Hermione whispered loudly as she stepped onto the first step of the staircase, trying not to wince as she recalled the last person she had said that to.

"Night, Hermione…"

And both of them disappeared up the staircases…

The next morning was the first morning that Hermione awoke thinking of Draco Malfoy, but the thoughts running through her mind were not cheerful. In fact, she still rather wanted to kill him. He should be afraid of her today, and she prayed she would not see him. Not just because of his personal health; somehow she knew seeing him might change her mind, and his newborn attractiveness might deceive her. No matter what, she could not let that happen. Besides, she was sure that his handsomeness had only struck her last night because of the awkwardness of the moment; anyone could look good with their face covered in water and their hair hanging over their eyes.

Even if this was the case, however, she decided that she would stay as far from him as she could – at least until she had forgotten about that stupid kiss. Absently she wondered if it was possible to evade someone for that long…

Her question was answered when she walked into breakfast, Ron and Ginny at her heel, and saw Draco sitting at the end of the Slytherin table. He was not sitting with his usual posse, and in fact, he had no one sitting with him at all. He looked up at Hermione as she passed, his expression smug. Hermione's eyes flickered to him mechanically, and to her dismay, his features still made her heart flutter. Nevertheless, she pried her eyes way from him, trying to keep her composure. She didn't love him; she couldn't. It was illogical for her to fall for someone like Draco Malfoy… completely and utterly absurd.

She ate quickly, her heart constantly aware of the boy at the enemies' table, aching and longing to escape his presence. Immediately after she finished, her feet moved quickly out of the door, rushing for once to the class she most hated where she would yet again be imprisoned with him. She was glad for Ron beside her now as he made a wonderful distraction from her current predicament.

She smiled at him as he shifted in his chair next to her, and she tried not to allow her eyes to wander as she turned her head in Draco's direction. He was watching her carefully, observing her interactions with Ron, and Hermione knew he was jealous. She could see that green monster spinning in his eyes, but his expression remained blaringly indifferent. How could he keep his emotions so bottled up? If he was jealous, why didn't his face say so? It frustrated Hermione that he would not put his mask aside and show himself. He didn't even flinch when Carrow eyed him ferociously during his lecture; he was completely detached and unperturbed at everything. And when the bell rang and they rose to leave, Hermione noticed his face hadn't changed a fraction since the beginning of class.

Hermione followed right behind Ron as he walked gracelessly into the corridor, and Hermione felt Draco's tall, muscular figure looming behind her as she joined Ron at the staircases. His eyes were locked on Draco, staring at him apprehensively, and nervous, Hermione glanced up, hoping that the blonde Slytherin would be slinking lazily down the hall. To her pleasant relief, he was already headed to whatever class he had for second period, and feeling slightly less anxious, she walked casually with Ron to the greenhouses.

As usual, this class was positively ear-wrenching and entirely mind-numbing, and as she walked slowly across the Grounds, Hermione found herself looking forward to lunch. She wasn't sure why, though, seeing as the only thing surely to be on her mind was that wretched Death Eater. Why was he always in her head, his face, his voice? Had he honestly discovered yet another tactic to keep her annoyed? It was driving her mad!

"Are you okay , Hermione?" Ron asked abruptly. "You look a little… frazzled."

"Frazzled?" she said, trying to sound calm. "Well… I have been a bit stressed out lately. But you know I always get that way at the start of school."

"That's true…" Ron reflected. "At least _try_ to relax, though. Alright? I mean, it's our last year, Hermione. You don't want it to be filled with stress and regrets, right?"

Hermione nodded, wondering how Ron always knew what to say, even when he didn't mean to. He had just given her advice to her real problem, and she decided that she wouldn't – couldn't – worry about Draco anymore. He was only going to ruin her last year at school with her friends, and after corrupting so much, he was not going to waltz off with her seventh year.

The two of them sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Hermione smiled to herself for not glancing in Draco's direction upon her entrance. Ginny was already seated and ladling tomato soup into a glass bowl. Steam rose from the bowl and evaporated slowly into the air, as new grey wisps twirled vigorously about below. Hermione watched the thin smoke, deep in thought, as a plate flashed in her face. She shook her head quickly, surprised at the sudden change in scenery, and took the dish, thanking Ron for handing it to her.

"How was your session with Luna last night, Ginny?" Hermione asked, trying to remove her mind from the thought of Draco. "Did you get much accomplished?"

Ginny nodded, "Yes, actually. We were done quickly with the research. Now all she lacks is the writing of the thing… I was surprised to find that you two night owls were both in bed when I came back."

_She just had to bring it up_, Hermione thought sadly. It seemed avoiding the thought of him was much harder than it had initially sounded.

"Yes, well… It had been a long day for me, and I was exhausted…" Hermione sighed, hoping her excuse was believable.

Neither of the other two said anything, and Hermione hoped that they didn't somehow know. Surely they couldn't. She was only paranoid. Besides, what was there to know about? It had all been Draco's doing, and Hermione had not been willingly involved at all. Ugh! Why couldn't she stop reminding herself of him?!

Hermione was sitting on a low stone bench in a small nook outside the Transfiguration classroom. She dreaded walking inside with every fiber of her being, with every breath in her chest, and her brain urged her to skip the class entirely. But she was Head Girl, and she knew McGonagall would not appreciate her doing such a thing. She had no other choice than to enter and face what was sure to come.

Reluctantly, she walked into the class, her hands clutching her books to her chest, as if they would protect her from Draco's smoldering eyes. Nevertheless, she kept them under her chin, her thin fingers playing nervously with the tattered bindings. As she looked up hesitantly, her brown eyes caught him, sitting at the desk they so regrettably shared. She seated herself grudgingly next to him, and he glanced up but did not say anything to her. Instead, he turned back to his textbook, looking slightly depressed.

He leaned in on his forearms, and Hermione couldn't help but notice his muscles ripple unintentionally as they supported him. She knew that on the underside of those muscular arms, however, there was the mark that forced them apart. She looked away quickly, realizing that she was letting her mind linger on him far too long again. His Dark Mark wasn't the only reason she disliked him. He not only carried the mark of a Death Eater; he fulfilled it. She needed to stop being so ridiculous.

Draco sat in silence, trying not to look at her and get lost in her quicksand eyes. He would never be able to look away if he did because looking was never enough for him. He needed to feel, to have, to hold for when he could do this, he knew it would be true love and not a feigned, forced kiss on the lips. That was is goal now, but it seemed he was failing miserably. Hermione would not hazard a glance in his direction, and she didn't even show a sign that she knew he was there. Had his plan blown up because of the kiss that had not been a part of it? Had he pushed her away with his foolish actions? He knew that loving her was going to be painful, but he never knew it could hurt this terribly. It was almost worse than the sting he felt from day to day.

The two of them wished to be away from each other, to ease the pain they felt for very different reasons, and soon, their wishes were granted as the bell rang. Each of them popped out of their chair and walked briskly into the hallway, glad for the chance to escape. And they went their separate ways as Hermione turned towards the Gryffindor Common Room and Draco stared after her, hoping for a miracle to close the gap between them.

Hermione, flustered, stepped into the Common Room which was crowded – as always before dinner – and she pushed her way up the girls' stairwell and into her dormitory. There she plopped onto her bed and rested her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped in front of her. Gently, she laid her head on her hands, trying to calm herself down. Everything was spinning rapidly around her, and she feared she might pass out. She closed her eyes, thinking seriously about her options. She had to get rid of this problem; it was causing her too much stress. Her mind sorted through ways to put an end to it, and as she thought about it, she realized that there was only one sure solution… She had to give him an answer – yes or no.

Unsure of herself, she rose from her bed, stuck her hand into her pocket, and was shocked to find the slip of paper was burning once again. Her heart leapt into her mouth, and she tore the parchment from her robes and stared at it, watching for the poem to appear. But, this time, it was different. No poem scribbled itself across the page, but in the place where the poem should have been, something else was coming into existence.

"You didn't even speak to me today… Reply on the other side."

Perplexed, Hermione flipped the paper over to find that it was blank, and curious, she wrote back, her hand moving gracefully along the page. She felt her heart beat loudly in her chest, and she blushed at the sound. This wasn't happening.

"Malfoy?"

She turned the slip of paper over delicately in her hands to find a new message in place of the previous.

"Of course…"

"You are determined to have me, aren't you?"

"Yes… which is why I want to know why you didn't say one word to me today."

Hermione could just imagine Draco sitting on his Slytherin bed, writing on a book just like she was right now. His eyebrow was raised and he was smirking only slightly but enough for her to giggle at the sight. And then, in her mind's eye, she glimpsed his face when she wrote back what she was resolute to say… Her quill lingered on the spot where she would begin her hurtful words, making a large ink spot spread under the point. She watched as the black liquid diffused over the creases in the paper, making tiny ebony rivers dance across the page. Now that she was being interrogated, she doubted that she truly hated him. When she remembered him sitting alone, his grey eyes darker than they had ever been, or recalled him crying futilely beside the lake, she doubted that he was as unfeeling as he tried so hard to outwardly appear. And now he was asking her a simple question, and she could not bring herself to respond for she knew the answer she had planned to give him was only a lie.

A tear splattered on the page, and Hermione jumped, unaware that she had been crying. The hot tear joined with the ink and swirled, the black liquid spreading like an eerie hand in the droplet. Hermione dropped her quill and brought her hand to her eyes as the metal tip clinked on the stone floor. The paper sat quietly on the book in her lap, mocking her and catching her tears as they fell.

Draco was sitting on the floor of his dorm, leaning against the mattress of his bed. He knew no one would bother him; no one here cared about him anymore. He sat there waiting on Hermione to reply to his note, but all that had appeared was an ugly black splatter of ink. He waited, wondering why she was so hesitant as a different sort of liquid tapped the page. Puzzled, he touched his eye to make sure it hadn't come from him, but his eyes were completely dry. Still, he waited as several more tears struck the paper, soaking it in saline, and concerned, he flipped the page over, where the paper was waterless, no ink, no tears, nothing.

He put his quill to the page and began to write.

"I'm sorry about last night, Hermione. I shouldn't have forced you to kiss me. It wasn't what I had been planning on doing… I don't want you to be upset, but I need to know what you want. It's driving me insane."

He turned the paper over, the ink and tears evaporated now as Hermione's quill touched the paper once more.

"I don't know what I want…"

"Yes you do, Granger. You just don't want to admit what you want, either because you're afraid I will be hurt – which I assure you won't make a difference – or because you are afraid of accepting it for yourself."

Another pause ensued, and Draco knew she was taking his advice seriously, the jagged tip of her pen lingering over the paper and her mind whirling. He waited patiently for a response, as she sat on her bed, staring at the words the echoed what she had known all along somewhere in the back of her mind. But her pen did not reply with assured words.

"I don't hate you."

The four tiny words came as relief to Draco, as her distant behavior had spoken otherwise, but they also speared him in the chest.

"But you don't love me either…"

"How could I, Draco? I barely know you. I don't know your favorite color or what you like to do on the weekends, or if you like school or anything!"

He frowned as he realized this was true and so he replied, "Black is my favorite color."

"Black? Why black? Why not something more happy?"

"Because black is my favorite color, Granger. Excuse me for my preferences. I'm sure your color isn't much better."

"Yellow. And I happen to think it is a wonderful color."

"I secretly practice Quittich on the weekends when no one is on the field…"

"But you stopped playing, didn't you? You aren't allowed to practice."

"Thus, the secret part, Granger. I always really liked Quittich. It was just sort of difficult to balance that and school and… well, you know."

"Right… I know."

"I suppose you and your friends still hold a grudge against me for last year."

"Yes."

He could see Hermione's face hardening as he wrote his response.

"I had no choice. It was either kill or be killed."

"Then how did it happen that you escaped with neither?"

"I didn't… I am a dead man walking, Granger. One slip up, and I'm as good as gone. The Dark Lord has been keeping an eye on me. Why do you think Amycus Carrow suddenly got a job here? You didn't think McGonagall would allow it, did you?"

"I suppose not, now that I think about it…"

"The Dark Lord wants me to suffer almost as much as he wants Potter dead…"

"Oh…"

He could tell Hermione didn't want to talk about Harry Potter so he thought of something else to continue their conversation.

"Do you want to talk in person?"

"Do you?"

"I wouldn't mind it."

"Where?"

"Now. On the lake. See you there, Granger."

Hermione stuck the helpful little slip of paper into her pocket, still thinking about Draco's words. What was she feeling, really? Was she simply hiding the truth from herself because she feared it? She had at least told him the truth; she didn't hate him and frankly considered them to be, to some extent, friends. Although it was nowhere near as close as the relationship she shared with Ron or Harry.

She rose, changing out of her robes into a burgundy sweater and jeans, and just to make herself feel more casual, she tossed her hair into a loose ponytail. But suddenly, she didn't like the way the sweater looked on her, and hurriedly, she grabbed a thin, blue t-shirt from her suitcase and pulled it on. Then, pleased with her appearance, she took off to the Grounds.

The Entrance Hall was crowded, as it was dinnertime, but it was also a time when many people would sneak off and be alone, a time when Draco was normally on the bank anyway, thinking negative thoughts. And trying to appear unnoticed, Hermione pushed through the flock of people out the doors and into the silent night. She didn't know why, but she didn't really dread seeing Malfoy as she would have a few days ago. His past interested her deeply. After all, it wasn't often that she got to peer into the thoughts of a Death Eater, and least of all, Draco Malfoy – the master of concealing emotion.

She walked onto the damp grass, the water flicking onto her bare feet, making them cold. She made her way to the place where she never failed to find him, deep in the woods, hidden beneath the dark branches. He was there already, dressed cleanly in normal clothes. Hermione gasped to herself as she noticed his well-built body underneath his light grey, cotton t-shirt, and suddenly she wanted to protest wearing robes at Hogwarts. Then she would get to see his biceps every day… Perhaps Draco wasn't the nicest or most innocent boy she had ever met, but he there was no denying that he had one heck of a body. And he stood so powerfully on the edge of the lake, staring into her with serious eyes, that Hermione was almost afraid to speak. _Oh boy_, Hermione, she thought guiltily to herself, _you're going to have to stop_ _staring at the boy and say something._

He smiled at her, pleased that she had decided to show up. He had feared she would rather stay with the Weasley's at dinner, but the fact that she had come at all was proof that he meant at least _something_ to her. Still, she appeared unsure of herself as she walked barefoot through the dirt towards him, curling her hair behind her ear and smiling sheepishly. She looked different when she wasn't wearing her school robes, and he had did not often have the chance to see her tiny figure because of them. The last time he could remember her in Muggle clothes was when she punched him in third year, and Merlin knows she had developed since then. Single-mindedly trying to pull his eyes to her face, he spoke to distract himself.

"Hey," he smiled, his voice sounding foreign.

"Hi…"

"I didn't think you were going to come," he admitted, looking at the ground and shuffling his foot in the dirt.

"Why not?" she asked, brows creased.

He shrugged, "Just didn't."

"Well I did, you pessimist," Hermione laughed, shoving him in the arm. It felt even better to touch him than it did to look at him.

He smiled, glancing quickly in her eyes, "You know your eyes are your best feature?"

"Oh, thank you," she blushed as she turned her head.

"They scare me because I know how easily I can get lost in them…"

"Draco…" Hermione sighed. "I came out here to talk with you… like friends."

Hermione witnessed his face gain a reddish tint as he smiled, "Right. What shall we talk about then? Your pick, Granger."

"Let's avoid our families and our past," she suggested, mostly for his sake, "and try to keep it strictly about us." He said nothing so she assumed that her idea was suitable for him. "What's your happiest memory at Hogwarts?"

He paused, but only for a couple of seconds, "Arriving here for the first time. You remember what it was like, don't you? Stepping through to the wizarding world, learning about magic? I remember when my parents told me I was a wizard that I felt like I was the king of the world." He laughed at the memory. "I didn't realize there were so many people who knew about magic until I came here. I had always thought it was just my family."

"Did your parents tell you before Hogwarts did?" Hermione asked, intrigued.

"Yes, they told me when I was about eight or nine. You know my father; he couldn't wait to thrust me into the wizarding community," Draco explained. Hermione nodded slowly, taking it in. "You know I almost got sent to Durmstrang?"

"No you didn't…" Hermione smiled up at him.

"I swear, Granger," he looked up at the moon. "My mum didn't want me to go so far away, and if she didn't have to sign the paperwork for me to attend, I'm sure my father would have sent me despite her wishes."

"Durmstrang produces the most –"

"Dark wizards out of any school…" Draco completed her sentence. "Sort of the point, Granger. What happened to not talking about our past?"

"I know…" Hermione said. She was silent for a few seconds, a question burning in her mind. She knew he wouldn't like her asking, but she had to know. "But… what do you think would have happened if you were sent to Durmstrang?"

He turned to look at her, taken aback again by her analytical question, "I don't know… What kind of question is that?"

"One you weren't expecting obviously…" Hermione said. "Do you think you would be different?"

He took a deep breath, "And by different, I assume you mean an evil, immoral Death Eater by choice? Probably so…"

"I'm glad you're not…" Hermione breathed, peeling the bark off a small twig she had discovered at her feet.

Draco laughed, a twinge of guilt slapping him in the face. She honestly had a distorted view of him, thinking he was the perfect Death Eater who escaped all forms of evil, but she was mistaken and this sent his heart to his stomach in remorse.

"Hermione…" he said, staring off into some place she couldn't see, somewhere far off. "I am. That is what's wrong with me; my brain is fighting against me. I'm not cut out to be a Death Eater because I'm too sensitive; it hurts me to watch people die, to witness their dreams and hopes and... lives evaporate right in front of me. But I have to go through with it… I have to watch it. I've never murdered anyone, Granger, but I've done things to make people wish I had. My hands aren't clean of others' pain, believe me."

"Dumbledore told Harry once that if you ever succumbed to murder, you would never be able to return from the darkness…" Hermione admitted. "The funny thing is, I was the one to ask about you, and now here we are talking about it…"

Draco shifted uncomfortably in the grass, his finger gripping the dark earth. He knew he needed to talk about this, but he didn't want to. It hurt to think about, stung to remember, and he tried to hold back the tears as Hermione became still. They sat in utter silence for what seemed like hours, the only noise was the screeching of bats overhead.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said, finally. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's alright," Draco admitted, leaning his head against the tree behind him. "I need someone to say something about it. I just don't like them to."

"That makes sense…" Hermione speculated.

"Mmm…" Draco hummed, feeling drained as if thinking about his past mistakes had sucked the life out of him.

"As much as I hate to say it, Malfoy," Hermione began. "Your best feature is your lips, meant in the most serious way."

Draco's eyes snapped open and he smiled, a real smile, "And I take it that means that you get lost in them as I do your eyes?"

"You can take it anyway you want to, Malfoy," Hermione grinned. "I'm saying that I find your lips attractive, whether I get lost in them or not."

"You keep breaking all of your rules, Granger," Draco chuckled. "First you say that this is strictly a chat between friends and then, of all things, you go about complimenting my mouth. Then afterwards, when you say you want to talk about us, we end up talking about each other."

"What can I say?" Hermione giggled. "I am a rebel."

Draco rolled his eyes, smiling as he did, "Oh, yes, of the most devious variety."

She pushed him in the shoulder and he fell onto the ground, laughing. Something about the action felt natural to Hermione, as if her hand was supposed to fit into his arm like that, as if her smile was supposed to make him laugh like that. She wondered why she hadn't seen it before, why she hadn't noticed. She wasn't sure how long they stayed outside that night, and she couldn't remember how long they had talked about everything (besides lips and Death Eaters). But she felt differently now than she had before. She understood Draco better, and she was pleased when the night was over that Draco called after her.

"See you tomorrow, Granger."


	3. Chapter Three: Whispers

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**

**WARNINGS: 12 + MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS!**

**SUMMARY: Hermione's curiosity is aroused, and she chases Draco into the woods. But she never imagined what would happen when she found him. An angry Carrow pays a visit to a colleague.**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction so please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. Thank you :)**

**PS: Thanks to Morgan and Kaitlyn for giving me some spectacular inspiration :)**

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**Chapter Three: Whispers**

**"_Why am I always at war with myself? Why have I told, as if upon compulsion, what I knew all along I ought to have withheld? Why am I making a friend of this woman beside me, in spite of the whispers I hear against her in my heart?"_**

_**- Charles Dickens**_

Hermione tapped her fingers on the desk, waiting for Malfoy to walk in and seat himself quietly in the back row. She had not been surprised when he did not turn up at breakfast, and perhaps she should not be expecting him now either. The bell rang, and he had still not arrived in the class. Hermione saw Carrow glance complacently at Draco's seat, as if he was pleased that Malfoy had not shown up, as if it signified his weakness. Disappointed, Hermione sulked for most of the class and waited impatiently for the time to tick away. She heard nothing that worthless Death Eater said during his lecture, and it was probably better that she didn't. She didn't come to school to be educated on the ways of Voldemort…

She decided that when the class ended she would check for Draco where she knew she would find him – by the lake. She watched eagerly as the second hand brushed the twelve for the billionth time that morning. How many seconds are in an hour? Surely not this many, Hermione thought. It spun and spun, passing the twelve numerous more times before the final bell chimed, releasing her from this unusual form of suffering.

Quickly, before Ron and Ginny caught up with her, she hurried down to the Entrance Hall, moving as fast as her legs – and the extremely sluggish staircases – would carry her. She burst through the front doors, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, but this was hard to do considering she only had about ten minutes before her next class began. She walked briskly to the lakeside, and immediately she saw him, walking as usual along the water's edge.

"I'm going to have to hunt for a new hiding place if you keep turning up here, Granger."

Hermione shrugged, unsure now of why she came down here… Was she elated or upset, indifferent or concerned, in love or in hate? Then she came closer and saw his face, the face that too long ago had appeared to be the mascot of evil, but now it was… different, and she couldn't hate him although she felt so uncertain about the opposite emotion. And not able to make up her mind, she settled for an emotion somewhere in between.

"I came out here to make sure you were alright," Hermione said truthfully.

Draco raised his eyebrows, "Wait. You – the girl who only two nights ago said she hated me – are concerned about my wellbeing? I think the question is, Granger, are you alright?"

She sighed and ran a hand through her wavy hair, "That is a great question, indeed, but I believe I asked first."

He glanced up at her in disbelief, "You expect me to give you an explanation as to why I'm upset."

She paused, "Well… yes."

"Do you realize how long that would take, Granger? Honestly?" Then he was quiet for a few seconds. "My whole life."

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco!" Hermione smiled. "It would only take a few minutes."

"No, idiot," he said, making a face. "That was my answer."

His words slapped her like a million brinks, the sheer realization crushing her like a tidal wave. His whole life… And she slipped herself into his place for just a moment, something she had never thought to do, and she felt it too, the pain he suffered. Her heart was drowned in the heaviness, and she pulled herself back into reality.

"What do you mean?" Hermione said, trying to recover.

"Just… nothing," Draco sighed. "You wouldn't understand."

"And why not?" Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Because you have everything, and you wouldn't get it…" he replied.

"You think I have everything?!" Hermione yelled at him. "Yeah, Draco. Harry is endangering his life somewhere, Ron is driving me insane, you fancy me, and I have to pretend like nothing is wrong! But everything is perfect! Absolutely stunning!"

Draco stared at her, wondering how in the world someone so gorgeous could have such a temper, "Why is my fancying you on the list?"

"Because do you understand how foolish that is?!" she replied, her voice getting shrill again. "It would never work."

"Does that mean you're considering it?" Draco asked, trying to conceal his excitement.

"No! It doesn't! I don't even know you, Draco…" Hermione pointed out.

And he looked away from her as he realized that she was right; he didn't know anything about her either. They had never spoken to each other civilly before, but there was so much he wanted to know and, in return, wanted to hide.

"So let's get to know each other now…" he decided, sitting down against a tree.

She bit her lip and shook her head, "Draco, I can't be _with_ you. Ron has this thing for me; it would break his heart."

"You just said he was driving you insane, and you want to keep letting that happen? He doesn't have to know, Granger. Nobody does. It will be fine."

She glanced at him, bewildered. He was asking her to ruin her friendship with Ron, and although she was glad to know he had feelings for her in return, she couldn't hurt Ron to satisfy herself.

"You don't understand, Draco!" she, cried, frustrated. "I can't!"

"What," he said, pulling away from her a bit. "Do you _like_ him or something?"

"He's my friend! My very jealous friend!" Hermione yelled. "He got jealous when I had to sit with you on the train. He was upset the entire day! Imagine what he would be like if we started dating!"

Draco rolled his eyes, "I told you. We can be a secret. It has to be secret anyway… Stop over-analyzing it; you're making it no fun."

"Fun?!" she exclaimed. "This is not fun! This is a rare form of torture, Draco. We would and will most likely die because of it – considering of course that I was willing to follow through with it."

"And you don't think that I know that?! I've already dug my grave, Granger. Did you not see what happened this morning? I have this mark for a reason," he said holding his left arm up and pointing at it. "I'm supposed to be strong enough to do those sorts of things, but I'm not."

He put his head in his heads as Hermione moved closer to him, suddenly trying to comfort him. She had uncovered the source of his anguish; he was afraid of the Death Eaters.

"No," she said softly, "you're not…" She put her hand under his chin, coaxing his head up to look in his eyes. "You're strong enough to _resist_, and that takes the utmost courage. That is where you and Carrow – and all the other Death Eaters for that matter – differ. For you, it was never about whether or not you could muster up the nerve to produce the curse; it was whether or not you would choose to. For that, I am proud of you; that was the purpose of the exercise in my eyes." His eyes flickered to the lake – anything to escape her passionate, yet innocent gaze – and they remained there as she continued, "Strength is measured in many different ways Draco. Some, like Voldemort, believe strength is power – no matter how you obtain it. Some, like Harry, think strength is bravery to fight for their beliefs, while others, like Dumbledore, saw strength as wisdom and unbiased kindness…"

"And if I am none of those things," Draco concluded, "then what _is_ my strength?"

She crawled through the dirt to sit next to him against the tree, "The courage to change. The courage to lose everything in order to be better."

"Is it still called courage if you're afraid?"

Hermione did not answer for a moment, "Carrow will tattle, won't he?"

"Yes," Draco replied, "and my father will never look me in the face again."

"What are you going to do?" Hermione questioned, squinting against the sun, which had just peered from behind a cloud.

"Nothing…" he answered. "There's nothing I _can_ do but allow it to happen."

She sighed, feeling her tense muscles relax, and she leaned her head back on the tree. She thought back to Professor McGonagall's speech : how she needed to embrace opportunities, no matter the obstacles she knew lay in the future. Though perhaps she had meant for Hermione to apply it in a different sense.

"Draco," she said a few minutes later, "you are possibly the most baffling boy I have ever spoken to…"

"Am I?" he responded in a whisper.

"Yes, and sometimes I wonder why I continue talking to you."

"Do you?" he smirked. "I think I know why…"

"Me too," she said, her breathing becoming labored.

And then it happened so quickly that she couldn't stop his advance – and she didn't know that she would have wanted to. His lips crushed hers strongly, almost knocking her backwards. Her head was screaming at her to pull away, but her heart refused to let her. She was clutching his robes so tightly that her knuckles were white, as his hands were at her back, warm, hugging her closer. She was dizzy – perhaps from lack of oxygen but maybe from thinking about the world she had so carelessly thrown herself into.

A bell rang in the distance, signaling that they had five minutes to get to class. Hermione stood, taking an unsteady step forward as she walked quickly to Charms.

Draco sat alone again, staring after her, smiling for gaining his first real kiss with Hermione, and as he thought about it, he laughed. He knew then that she had fallen unintentionally and unexpectedly in love with him.

* * *

Hermione bounded up the Grand Staircase, her shoes tapping rhythmically on the white marble. She sprinted down the corridor to her right, where stone staircases flew in the space above her like the pieces of a complex jigsaw puzzle, fitting into their allotted places on the walls. She stepped onto one of them and it creaked into motion as she looked around; there were no other students in the entire room, and this fact unnerved her for she did not want to be tardy. The enchanted steps took her – quite slowly – to the third floor, and there, she raced to her left, down the Charms corridor, as a small bead of sweat formed on her temple. She reached the door, and her fingertips had just tapped the metal of the knob when the final bell chimed.

Disheartened by her vain attempt to be punctual, she paused to catch her breath and closed her eyes. As she opened the door, several heads snapped up, their faces pasted with surprise for she had never been late before. She tried to remain invisible as she walked to a vacant seat beside Neville Longbottom, keeping her eyes on the floor.

"Miss Granger," said Filius Flitwick, the Charms teacher, as he peered over the rims of his spectacles, "you're late! How very uncharacteristic of you!"

"I'm sorry, Professor," she apologized, still slightly out of breath.

"Yes, yes…" the professor squeaked.

Neville looked at Hermione as the professor began his lecture, "What happened? I know you well enough to know you're not late unless it's something important… Is it Harry?"

She shook her head, her curls bouncing as she did, "No, Neville. It was… personal."

Neville simply nodded and – out of respect of privacy – left the topic alone.

During class, Hermione had trouble centering her attention on the lesson; in fact, she couldn't say for sure what it was about, and Neville had elbowed her out of her thoughts so many times that she feared her ribs were bruised. The second kiss she and Draco had unpredictably shared hung heavily on her mind; the guilt suffocated her heart. She had stabbed Ron in the back, and he didn't even know it. And the worst part was that she had not been tricked this time. She had actually been conscious of her actions, and she reprimanded herself for doing so for she didn't want to be in love with him… But...

Neville jabbed her sharply in the side again, knocking the breath out of her lungs.

"Will you pay attention?" he whispered strongly. Then, seeing her troubled expression, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Other than the contusions on my ribcage? Perfectly fine…" she answered, rubbing her sore stomach.

"Oh," Neville blushed. "Sorry about that…"

"It's alright I suppose," Hermione said.

Soon the lesson ended and Professor Flitwick began to assign homework – his favorite part of teaching, it seemed. It was due by Thursday – two days from now, and although Hermione typically completed her assignments on the first night they were given to her, she decided she would put this one off. It seemed rather simple. Besides, she was thinking about the next time she would get to see Draco, and this much was apparent as she glanced down at the paper she had intended to take notes on. The first few inches of parchment were strictly Charms and their uses, but below that, Hermione's quill had gained a mind of its own, turning her intelligible letters into random squiggles and lines, which had morphed into something that was somewhere in between sensible and illogical – Draco's name. It was written beautifully in her best calligraphy and, to her hidden embarrassment, surrounded by tiny hearts.

Embarrassed, she tucked the paper in the back of her book, praying that no one had seen. She ran her fingers through the curls in her hair, trying to make herself forget kissing him, but she couldn't. The feeling still lingered in her head, nothing making sense now, like reading backwards. She knew what the words were saying, but they didn't register in her brain. She knew she hated Draco, but it was no longer logical. Every excuse she made for loathing him was overshadowed by that kiss and the feelings it brought, and she wasn't sure _how_ she felt about him anymore.

As the bell rang, Hermione, having already received her report topic, exited the room. She went back to the floating staircases and stepped onto one, and when it halted on the seventh floor, she carefully stepped off, walking nervously into McGonagall's classroom.

Draco was sitting in his seat, his expression blank, as he scribbled something on a sheet of parchment. She wondered if he was angry about her leaving him alone with no goodbye. She didn't believe so, however, as she sat down, and his eyes snapped to her magnetically. He continued writing with his right hand, but she felt his left index finger run subtly up the small of her back. Her heart beat erratic, she tried not to draw attention by squirming at his touch.

They sat, each heart bursting with nervousness, and each pair of eyes awash with awkwardness. Neither of them knew just how the other felt, but both were wishing the other harbored similar emotions. Hermione tilted her head slightly, attempting to make eye contact with him. His grey eyes caught hers then, and he gave her a lopsided grin, wondering when she was going to admit that he had stolen her heart. She pursed her lips in return, as if trying to swallow a giggle, as she ripped a piece of parchment from her book. She began to write something, smiling brightly as she did. She slid the piece of paper to him, bending over and rummaging through her bag to divert people's attention, and he gently took it from her. He looked at it, reading her beautiful writing.

How's your face from last night?

Draco laughed quietly at this and replied:

Great. It almost stung as much as the swing you took at me in third year.

Really? I didn't think I hit you that hard.

You're obviously stronger than you think you are.

Perhaps. Or perhaps you just can't take a punch.

I don't think that's the issue, Granger. Believe me. I just think that you enjoy inflicting pain on me.

No, definitely not.

Well why is it then that I hurt every time I look at you, knowing that I can't have you?

Hermione crumpled the paper in her hand after reading what he had written.

"Draco…" she whispered, blinking back tears.

He studied his hands, which were folded in front of him and sighed, "It's true."

Then he looked up at her out of the corner of his eye, the silver orbs burning into her, and she knew he wasn't teasing. Suddenly her confusion fluttered away as light as a butterfly and, knowing exactly what she wanted now, she longed for another kiss. She wanted to know the boy that sat beside her, to share his joys and pains, and to be his crutch to fall back on. She didn't know how, but she knew one thing for certain; she had fallen for Draco Malfoy.

The class ended quickly, as the two of them secretly enjoyed each other's silent company. They brushed shoulders as they exited the class, and in less than a second, Hermione had shoved a slip of paper in Draco's hand discreetly and reluctantly walked away.

He opened the letter, which was folded neatly in a tiny square. He smiled as he read what she had written – a secret meeting place where no one would ever discover them. _She is more clever than I give her credit for, _Draco thought as he whispered a spell and burned the parchment with a flick of his wand. Then he stepped onto a staircase, headed towards the first floor and the Slytherin Common Room.

He went to his bed, which was covered in green sheets – identical to the other beds that were placed systematically along the walls. He sat down on the comfortable mattress, as he remembered the note Hermione had written him:

Room of Requirement

After dinner

His heart warmed at the thought, but it also ached. Somehow he knew that if the Slytherins had reacted this harshly to him simply walking out of a class, their reaction to his new-found romance – if revealed – would be considerably worse. But he was positive that his relationship with Hermione would be kept under lock and key. Neither of them, he was sure, fancied the idea of anyone exposing them, and so neither of them would tell.

But he tried not to think about the future as he laid down on his pillow. He looked forward to after dinner, and that was all…

* * *

"What's wrong Hermione?" Ron asked her, stuffing his mouth with a piece of turkey.

She shook her head insistently, "Nothing, Ron."

He had asked her if she was feeling well at least a thousand times since she had sat down at dinner, and it was starting to make her nervous. Every time he asked her this question, she was required to tell a lie because she was not, in fact, well. Her insides were twisted unbelievably tight, and she was surprised that neither Ginny nor Ron noticed her heavy breathing. She looked forward to but at the same time dreaded her meeting with Draco.

_Don't be ridiculous, Hermione _she thought to herself trying to calm her nervous tension. _You were the one that arranged this! You can't back out of it! Besides, it will be fine…_

"Ron," Ginny punched his arm, "stop bothering her. She doesn't have to have something the matter with her every second of the day…"

Ron did not reply but continued to eat, glancing up worriedly at Hermione every now and then. He wondered why her eyes seemed so fixated on the Slytherin table, why her feet were pointed towards the door, and why she seemed to be wearing more makeup than usual. He speculated whether or not she knew that he saw everything and that he was certain every word that had escaped her lips this evening had been untruthful. He wondered if she knew.

Suddenly, she was on her feet, apologizing for the unanticipated rush out, and then she was gone to the Great Hall. Ginny stared after her, recalling lunchtime when Hermione had left her and her brother alone in exactly the same way, and although she wouldn't admit it to Ron, she knew something strange was happening. She remembered days when she and Harry would escape somewhere during meals and talk about nothing and everything. Quietly and tactfully she looked around, searching for any sign that she might be meeting with someone, and she spotted only one person leave the room – Draco Malfoy. But he was not a likely candidate so she continued eating, leaving Hermione to her own business.

* * *

Upstairs on the seventh floor, Hermione was pacing back and forth in front of a painting portraying Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet. She was thinking very intensely about Draco and her desire to be closer with him, and as she passed the painting for the third time, the stone wall opposite it clicked, uncovering a hidden door.

It was a room Neville Longbottom had discovered during fourth year that had served as the meeting place for Dumbledore's Army – an organization lead by Harry to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, seeing as their teacher that year had been quite incompetent. It was called the Room of Requirement and, when someone greatly needed it, it would transform into whatever sort of room that person desired at the moment. Few people knew of it, and that was why Hermione chose it now.

She stepped under the threshold, finding before her a quaintly decorated room. It had baby blue wallpaper and navy and white furniture. A white, fur rug covered most of the floor, and on top of it sat two armchairs and a sofa. A fire flickered beneath the mantle, and candles hung, burning on the walls, their wax dripping slowly down their trunk. It was perfect, she thought.

And just as she had sat down in one of the plush chairs, the door clicked open, but she did not flinch for she knew who it was. He came and sat on the loveseat next to her, studying his surroundings.

"Are you aware, Granger, that the last time I was in this room, I was snitching you for that Dumbledore's Army rubbish?" he said as he stared into the flames licking in the fireplace.

"It wasn't rubbish!" Hermione disagreed. "If anything, the Inquisitorial Squad was rubbish. Umbridge was a prick, and besides, you and your Slytherin friends abused your power to the point of being unreasonable…"

Draco turned his eyes to her, "And you wouldn't?"

"No! Absolutely not!"

He nodded, unmoved, "Okay… If you say so, Granger. I know you would have given me heck if you were in my place."

She laughed, breaking the tension, "Probably."

"See? Your aren't completely innocent," he smiled crookedly.

His words stung her a bit, making her remember how she had left Ron and Ginny for him yet again. That would make twice in one day that she had ditched her friends for someone she barely knew, but when else was she supposed to see him? She tried to push those thoughts out of her mind and relax.

"So what do you want to talk about?" Draco said, placing his hands behind his head.

"I don't mind."

"Fine then," he smiled. "Let's talk about you."

"What about me?" she asked, twirling a lock of wavy hair in her fingers.

"Do your parents know about you being a witch?" Draco asked, hoping for an answer for he had always wondered this about Hermione.

"Yes, and they take it very well…" she replied.

"What are they like?"

"Well, they are both dentists," she said, and then remembering that she was in the wizarding world and Draco knew nothing about that, she explained. "They clean Muggles' teeth for a living."

Draco laughed hysterically at this, finding the thought absurd, "Can Muggles not clean their own teeth?"

Hermione sighed, grinning, "Yes, but they have to visit the dentist to make sure that their mouths are healthy."

"Still sounds completely ridiculous to me but… let the Muggles do as they wish…" he said, still chuckling.

Another uncomfortable silence occurred, in which both of them were trying to think of something to say to the other without sounding totally idiotic. Hermione wanted to ask Draco of his parents, but she was afraid that they were part the reason he was so unsure of himself right now. She decided she would wait for the topic to come up on its own.

"Do you ever wish you were in someone else's place?" Draco said suddenly, catching Hermione off her guard.

She hesitated, "Sometimes… but then when I think about all that I have gained instead of all I have lost, I wish nothing more than to be myself."

He was still, watching the fire again, and Hermione saw it in his eyes once more – the pain that had been present on the train. She watched it commandeer his entire demeanor, slowly working onto his pale face, into his frowning mouth, onto his slumping shoulders, and finally, he was not the laughing boy she had seen only moments before. He was something else, a new persona, and that was the part of him she had been seeking, the part she knew had been hiding behind the callused mask he usually wore.

She moved to the empty seat next to him, trying to see within him and discover the source of his anguish. She pulled her legs up into her lap and sat cross-legged on the couch, facing him.

"Tell me what's wrong, Draco," she said softly, grabbing his hand and playing with his fingertips. "Please?"

"Do your parents love you?" he asked, his silver eyes penetrating her heart now, his question taking her by surprise.

"Well… yes," she replied, as if stating the obvious. "They tell me they do."

"Mine don't," he said blankly. "Ever. They never have."

This revelation was shocking to Hermione. How anyone's parents could neglect to say that they loved their child was a mystery to her. Her mum and dad could never tell her enough how much they loved her, and here Draco Malfoy was saying that his parents had never uttered the words.

"Ever?" she asked incredulously.

"Never," he replied. "But it honestly doesn't matter. I – "

"Yes it does, Draco!" Hermione said, trying to make him understand. "It does matter! Love is necessary; everyone wants to be wanted by someone! If love didn't exist – "

"If love didn't exist, we wouldn't be talking right now…" Draco interrupted calmly, reaching up to touch her face, the back of his hand grazing her jaw line.

"Well, yes," she said quickly, "and – "

"And I wouldn't be scared for you…"

"Draco!" she exclaimed, frustrated that he kept interrupting her. "If you would let me speak, I would say that… that I want to kiss you."

"And you want to kiss me…" Draco smiled, stroking her cheek, their noses rubbing.

Then she leaned into him once, their lips meeting for just a second, and then he pulled away only to pull her body into his, their flesh melting together, seeming as one. And then their lips fused together, as each of them closed their eyes, wishing the moment would last forever. Her hands were on his shoulders, rubbing them gently, and she never wanted to let go.

But she did only to say one thing.

"Let me be the first to say, 'I love you'."

* * *

Amycus Carrow held the green-tinted powder in his left hand as he poked the kindling in the fireplace of his classroom. Although the Floo Network was not common transportation for ordinary wizards, the Death Eaters used it quite often, seeing as the network was regulated by the Ministry, and Voldemort had overtaken the Ministry from within. No harm would come to him for using it, and he was sure Voldemort wouldn't mind what he relayed on the other side…

When the fire grew large enough, he tossed the powder into its flaming fingertips. Upon contact with the dust, the fire turned into an ugly shadow of jade, and Carrow stepped its heatless grasp. It was an odd sensation, seeing the flames whipping about you but your skin feeling about room temperature. But Carrow had more on his mind than the childish wonders of magic.

"Malfoy Manor," Carrow spoke to the fireplace.

Immediately, he was spun rapidly in circles, and he saw green fireplaces and moving emerald figures floating about in his vision. But he didn't see any of them clearly until he arrived beneath the mantle of the Malfoy's familiar dining room.

Carrow cleared his throat, preparing to impart to Lucius his shameful message, and although it was terrible news for the Malfoy family, Amycus could not have enjoyed it more. He stepped from under the chimney, and walked through the French doors that led to the entry hall, calling for Lucius. The sunlight seeped through the windows above him, and he held a palm up to block the potent rays.

All of a sudden the doors to his right flung open, revealing a beautiful woman, whom Carrow knew was Lucius's wife, Narcissa. He had always received the impression that she was very quiet and introverted, but she did not look so now wearing an exquisite deep violet gown that dangled just below her knee and then tapered off to the side, the end of it sweeping the floor. She held a glass of red wine in her hand, and she did not smile as she looked at him. Instead she looked briefly startled to find a near stranger standing in her foyer, but she soon recaptured her poise.

"Lucius, dear!" she called into what Carrow assumed was the kitchen. "Company for you!"

Narcissa stepped aside as the tall, blonde man entered the room. He dominated Carrow's vision, something about him seeming authoritative with his long white-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and his solid, focused eyes, but unfortunately, it was Amycus Carrow who would be ruling this visit. Lucius was simply the victim of bad news.

"Amycus!" Lucius bellowed, smiling, as he approached Carrow and held out his hand. "What arouses your visit?"

Amycus shook the man's hand strongly, his grip almost constricting, "Regrettably, Lucius, it isn't under the most ideal conditions that I intrude your residence."

"Ah…" Lucius rubbed his chin, his fingers brushing the stubble that had begun to sprout on his jaw. "Come. Sit and talk with me."

They entered the doors to the left, as Narcissa scurried behind them, her high heels clicking quickly on the marble floor. The room, upon entering, was possibly the most elegant living room Carrow had ever set foot in. The walls were painted crimson and decorated with portraits of family members passed. Cream-colored curtains hung from the floor-to-ceiling windows that dictated the rightmost wall, and the furniture – a long sofa, and three armchairs – was fabricated to match. A fireplace sat before him, laid with yellowish granite that covered the entire length of the north wall.

Despite the stunning décor, however, Carrow remained quite serious and outwardly unimpressed as he seated himself carefully in one of the armchairs. Lucius and Narcissa sat beside one another on the sofa.

"Lucius…" Carrow said, preparing his words cautiously. "It's about your son, Draco."

Narcissa popped from her seat, "What is it?!" she cried frantically. "What has happened?!"

"Nothing, nothing, Narcissa," Carrow waved her to take her seat again. "During my Dark Arts class, which Draco should be excelling in considering his familiarity with certain aspects of it, I asked him to perform the Killing Curse on a small, injured brown owl, but he refused to do it and left the classroom in the middle of the lesson!"

Lucius was quiet for a moment, considering this information, "Amycus, I would like to know what business of yours it is to be accusing me of tainting my boy's thoughts with distrust in our cause."

"I was not accusing you of any such thing, Lucius," Amycus said, bushy eyebrows furrowed. "I was merely stating that that sort of behavior is unacceptable. He is a symbol of our organization, and we must not represent weakness and cowardice."

"I have already discussed the matter with him, Amycus," Lucius said quietly but with force, "and if he does not listen to my warnings, what fault is it of mine that he is weak? If he is not of the right mind, then he shall not be a part of us, and I will not object. Narcissa does not agree with his membership in any case, so it will make no difference."

"Very well, Lucius," Amycus said, rising from his seat on the beautiful armchair. "I suppose I shall be going then. I thought I should inform you of his current situation."

Carrow stalked from the room, feeling rather confident for although Lucius had not shown any signs, Amycus knew he had upset him. He had seen the rage burning in his eyes, the tension in his clenched fists, and the embarrassment in his scarlet face. He knew how much Lucius wanted his son to succeed in the Dark Arts, how much he longed for Draco to join him in serving the Dark Lord, and it was only a matter of time before Lucius pushed Draco away from him – everyone had been expecting it, even Voldemort.

Carrow smiled nastily to himself, disappearing behind the thrashing green flames as he heard the angry growl of Lucius Malfoy echoing throughout the house. He listened to the sound of shattering glass and screams as he laughed behind the emerald curtain that carried him back to Hogwarts.


	4. Chapter Four : Suspicions

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER THREE SUMMARY: Ginny and Ron become suspicious of Hermione, while Draco is named in the suspicions of someone considerably more powerful.**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

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* * *

****Chapter Three : Suspicions**

**"Jealousy feeds upon suspicion, and it turns into fury or it ends as soon as we pass from suspicion to certainty."**

**- Francois de la Rouchefoucauld**

"Hermione…" Ginny whispered, shaking her friend gently under the bed sheets for the umpteenth time that morning.

For the past few weeks it had been almost impossible to get Hermione up and about. Ginny thought it was probably because of how late she kept returning from wherever it was she went after dinner. She would hear the door click quietly shut and then Hermione climb softly in the bed beside her every night, at a time that she could only guess. The previous night Ginny had heard birds chirping happily along with Hermione's crawling under the covers, and the birds here didn't come alive until the sun grazed the tip of the horizon.

"Hermione, please," Ginny said more loudly now. "You have to get up. We're going to miss breakfast if you don't."

Hermione groaned and plopped her pillow over her head to drown out Ginny's voice. Annoyed, Ginny threw her hand in the air and headed to breakfast. She decided that she wasn't trying to wake Hermione anymore; it was a waste of effort. Besides, Hermione was the very last person Ginny wanted to talk to right now considering how she had treated she and Ron the day before.

She walked out of the girls' dormitory, straightening her robes, as she spotted Ron waiting on her in the door of the Common Room. He smiled weakly, and Ginny grinned as happily as she could force herself to, trying to cheer him up. Hermione's antics had really been bothering him, and to Ginny's dismay, nothing seemed to reverse the dreadful effects. He was losing sleep over it; she could tell by the deep purple circles that rimmed his eyes, and his words came in short murmurs as opposed to his normal, somewhat clearer speech.

She looked up at him as he shuffled sleepily beside her. He appeared so unsteady that Ginny was prepared to catch him if he happened to collapse, and she stepped carefully behind him as they entered the Great Hall.

They were only slightly late for food, as only a handful of students were just grabbing fruit and scooping scrambled eggs onto their plates. The two siblings slowly made their way to the nearly full Gryfinndor table. Ginny felt as if a pair of eyes were plastered on her as she passed the Slytherin table, but she did not look to accurately accuse the silver eyes that she suspected.

She and Ron sat down and began to fill their plates to the brim with eggs and bacon and such. Ginny loved the food at Hogwarts almost as much as her mother's, but, of course, she knew nobody could rival Molly Weasley's cooking. Ginny sighed unhappily as she thought of her mother at home, and she almost wished she were accompanying her now. With Harry gone and Hermione acting like a prat, there wasn't much at Hogwarts to like besides the food.

"Hermione still asleep?" Ron mumbled to her now, his lips barely moving.

Ginny just nodded, shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs in her mouth. She didn't want to talk about Hermione anymore, even though she knew Ron needed to. Something inside of her was screaming at her to play peacemaker, but she was too peeved at Hermione to help her out. Ginny's idea of helping her out right now was less than civil.

"What time did she get back last night?" he asked, not truly wanting to know but feeling like he had to ask.

"This morning," she corrected him. "And it was fairly late… er… early."

"Ginny!" he yelled at her out of the blue. "This is serious! Quit joking around about it! Hermione hates me, and you are poking fun at it!"

"Ron! I wasn't doing anything like that!" she retorted. "Calm down!"

He exhaled forcefully and stuck his hands in his red hair, looking like he might rip the strands from their roots. She patted his back comfortingly but was really beginning to become tired of both Ron and Hermione's stupidity. Why couldn't they stop betraying each other and be friends again? Otherwise, the two of them were a rather sickening sight. Or at least Ron was; Hermione just seemed sickeningly joyful to be away from her best friends, and Ginny thought she knew why.

"I'm sorry…" Ron sighed. "Hermione is just worrying me. I really care about her, and the thought of her losing interest in me is… hurtful."

And that was why she couldn't bring herself to disclose her suspicions to her brother. She couldn't bear to see him upset because of something that could have avoided if she'd kept her mouth shut.

"It's alright. I understand." she said guiltily, trying to smile but no such shape twisting her lips. It was as if the corners of her mouth were weighed down with the knowledge that wanted to escape it.

When she thought about it, the absurdity of her suspicion overshadowed the suspicion itself. Why would Hermione see anyone and not tell them about it? And more importantly, if Ginny's fears were true, why in the bloody heck would she be seeing _him_? Surely Hermione was more intelligent than to fancy Draco Malfoy. Ginny attempted to convince herself that there was nothing to fret over; Hermione was perhaps scared for Harry and just needed time away from people in general. Ginny knew how she felt if this was the case…

There wasn't a moment that went by that Harry was not floating somewhere in the back of her mind. The thought of him was like an ache - sometimes subsiding or growing stronger but never going away. She worried about his safety and his whereabouts and his wandering thoughts of her. She remembered his lips on hers, his strong hand clutching her fragile fingers, and the beautiful way he never seemed to forget about her.

Thinking pained her now, and she willed herself to stop, as she saw Hermione come in across the room. Ginny glimpsed Ron's eyes flicker to the doors, and she watched for signs – a quick glance, a hesitated footstep, a subtle change in her expression – and then she caught it. As she twirled a ringlet of hair between her fingers, Hermione's brown eyes darted, for the slightest fraction of a second, to the Slytherin table.

_Don't be ridiculous, Ginny,_ she thought to herself. _It's just a coincidence. You only saw it because you were thinking about it._

But she knew she was lying to herself. She knew that expression all too well – the mask of love. It reminded her of the way she used to look at Harry when she was smaller, knowing he was the one but not wanting to admit it, but to look at _Draco Malfoy_ like that? It was almost surreal to witness. Ginny wondered what had happened to the two of them hating each other three weeks before, and what became of their stark differences? Had Hermione not loathed him only a few weeks ago?

Hermione came and sat down next to Ginny, who edged away from her, not really sure what sort of disease she harbored to be considering Malfoy but not particularly wanting to catch it. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, but somehow they were still dancing behind their watery veils. She looked like death had reared up and slapped her in the face, but the scary thing was that she didn't seem to care. She grabbed a slice of toast and stared at the table as she nibbled on it.

"Is that all you're eating, Hermione?" Ron asked her.

Ginny knew he was attempting to rekindle her feelings for him by feigning concern, but she knew that it was useless. Hermione had already sold her heart; Ginny just hoped she hadn't sold her soul along with it.

"What?" Hermione said, caught off guard. "Oh… no."

"Hermione?" Ginny said, making a decision and pushing herself from the table. "Can we… um… talk?"

Hemione looked puzzled before replying, "Uh… sure, Ginny."

And when Hermione did not make a move to rise from the table, Ginny added, "Privately?"

Ginny observed Hermione's features as a sprig of fear shot through them. Then she took the last bite of her buttered toast, and slowly followed Ginny into the Entrance Hall. Ginny hadn't wanted to talk to Hermione about anything, but she wasn't going to allow her to keep stabbing her brother in the back. It had to be stopped.

She turned right into the kitchens, where no one would hear their conversations over the clatter of pots and pans that echoed in the room. She paused for a moment to reflect on her words carefully; she didn't want to upset Hermione but simply make her understand.

"Hermione, I say this to you because I'm your friend, and I want you to do what's best for you. But I also want to speak for my brother because he feels the same way…" she paused to take a deep breath. "We have both been concerned about you. You seem tired all the time, and you never show up to monitor the halls with Ron like you said you would. I am the one that has been helping him for the past week, Hermione. He cried almost every night because he feels like you don't care about him anymore; Ron rarely cries. Whatever you are doing at night is hurting you both, and for the sake of health, I would like to know what it is."

The last statement Ginny knew was a lie. She didn't want Hermione to confirm her suspicions, but she had to know so she could help her. Or was this even about helping Hermione at all? Ginny thought perhaps it was simply that her interest had won her over, but she tried to believe that it was strictly to benefit her friend.

"Ginny…" Hermione breathed, laying her head against the wall and closing her eyes.

"Hermione!" Ginny said, a bit more forcefully than she had intended. "I can't keep watching both of you suffer! What is going on?"

"Honestly, Ginny…" Hermione pleaded. "I love you, but please stay out of it."

Ginny huffed, "I'm already in the middle of it, Hermione! I can't stay out of it! Tell me what it is or I have an excellent guess…"

"Well I'm absolutely not telling you, and you are positively not guessing because you will never get it right…" Hermione replied.

But Ginny was never much for following directions and in her impatience, she blurted it out, "Draco Malfoy."

Hermione's eyes shot open and turned to Ginny in surprise, but Hermione tried to cover it up by laughing. Ginny rolled her eyes, tired of Hermione pretending to be ignorant of her odd relationship. She had to know Ginny was smarter than to mistake her terrible lying for the truth.

"Ginny, don't be silly," Hermione said nonchalantly. "What would even give you the faintest idea that I was seeing Malfoy?"

"Oh, please, Hermione," Ginny sighed. "I've seen the way you look at him, and it's not one of your usual glares either. And when you come to the dormitory at night, I've noticed that your footsteps come from the right, which means you took the stairs closest to the Entrance Hall – closest to the Slytherin Common Room. I've been trying silently to find out what has been on your mind, Hermione. I never wanted to confront you like this, but I came to this conclusion and wondered if it was true. Is it?"

"Ginny, I – "

"Yes or no?" Ginny asked powerfully.

Hermione hesitated for an extremely long time, her eyes swirling with indecision and perhaps a slight dash of annoyance. She sighed heavily several times before she spoke. Ginny could see the thoughts spinning behind her eyes, and she suddenly felt slightly guilty for forcing Hermione to answer. She saw the thought become a word and travel up her throat and to the tip of her tongue. Then she carelessly threw it into the open so Ginny could see.

"Yes…"

The tiny word shocked her, although she had been expecting it all along. Something about hearing Hermione actually admit her relationship with Malfoy was different than Ginny knowing in her own mind. She nodded, swallowing back her panic, but inside of her, turmoil arose. Hermione was endangering herself and several others – including Ginny and Ron – by continuing this unhealthy relationship. So there was one thing that Ginny wanted to know…

"Why?" she asked, trying not to sound angry but not completely succeeding.

"Ginny," Hermione hesitated, "he's not a bad person. He's just… misunderstood. When I saw him on the train so disheartened, something clicked, and I haven't been able to forget the image since then. I felt that that face he wore was what lingered inside of him, instead of the hardened mask he puts on all the time. When I left you at lunch the first time, I was so curious. I wanted to release the good I knew was inside of him all along, and I have accomplished that now. Somewhere along the way, it just turned into something more than a lending hand…"

Ginny did not respond immediately. She was still confused a bit, having heard this profound information. Hermione was converting Draco from the dark side, but in the process, she had suddenly fallen in love with him? Perhaps this love wasn't a coincidence; perhaps the stench of Death Eater wasn't the only thing Draco carried on his robes.

"Hermione… do you remember Draco ever giving you anything to eat or drink since you – "

"It's not a love potion, Ginny!" Hermione said loudly. "This is real!"

"Okay, okay. But it could still be a trap. He could be using you to get to Harry, and I can't have you risk yours or Harry's life in that way," Ginny warned her. "I won't have it."

Hermione was silent as she shook her head. She didn't want to believe the things that were pouring from Ginny's mouth. Draco was truly in love with her, and he would never use her as an accessory in a Death Eater scheme… Would he? Besides, no harm would come to any of them as long as the secret remained quiet. Hermione thought she could trust Ginny, but she prayed that Ron wouldn't interrogate the truth out of her. He seemed quite adept at that.

"I understand, and I know you are concerned, Ginny," Hermione smiled, with pleading eyes. "I don't want you to think that I've forgotten about the two of you. Nothing has changed between us, but if Ron discovers this, it could create a serious gap in our friendship. I don't want to hurt him, and that's why we can't tell him – or anyone for that matter."

Ginny nodded, understanding her predicament, "I won't tell, Hermione. You can trust me. But please keep my warning in mind. Charming or not, Malfoy's still a Death Eater, and he is dangerous. Please be careful."

Hermione mouthed an 'okay' as Ginny embraced her sympathetically and went back into the Great Hall. She had tried to speak but a ball of worry had arisen in her throat, and it constricted her words. She was suddenly cold, and she hugged herself, trying to warm her arms. It didn't help for she knew that the chill came from inside of her – a result of the idea that Draco's love was only temporary. She slid down the wall and onto the floor, her eyes burning with hot tears. She knew Ginny was right and that Draco could be seducing her into a trap, and why wouldn't he? She was so gullible and weak, and she had a direct connection to his enemy. Why hadn't she seen this before? Perhaps she should speak with him about it, but how do you ask the man you love if he is betraying you?

* * *

In the Dark Arts classroom, Ron was sitting casually in his usual seat, but he wasn't as relaxed as he appeared. Inside he was nervous. Hermione would no doubt be striding through the door any minute now, and he wondered if she would sit next to him or if she would be sitting with Seamus or Neville or someone other than himself. He knew she didn't see him as anything more than a friend, and he knew she probably never would. He was forever doomed to be the goofy, tag-along best friend. Of course, he didn't mind just being friends with her. It was better than being completely ignored.

Then she walked in languidly. She looked like she had been crying; her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and her makeup was smudged a bit. Her hair was slung into a rather bushy ponytail, and she looked awful compared to her usual beautiful self. She walked between the isles, passing each desk, and just when he feared she was going to keep walking, she turned to the seat on his left and sat down.

He was unsure of what to do until she smiled at him, her perfectly white teeth almost blinding him, and then, feeling comfortable, he smiled in return, hoping she had meant for him to. He thought perhaps he and Ginny had been overreacting the entire time, and Hermione simply wished to be alone. He respected that ; sometimes he wanted to be alone for years at a time. A house full of brothers can do that to you.

"I've missed you…" he whispered bashfully, his face flooding with red.

"And I, you…" Hermione agreed. "I'm sorry I upset you."

"I shouldn't have been angry with you," Ron admitted. "Being angry with you bothers me more than whatever made be mad in the first place. It's completely pointless."

Hermione laughed at this, her laugh sounding like a thousand bells chiming. It was the sweetest sound on earth, and Ron was overjoyed that he could still make her laugh like that. So overjoyed, in fact, that he chuckled along with her, letting the sound define his happiness. He would have been more gleeful if Professor Carrow hadn't stepped from behind his desk, but he did, flashing a hideous smile at the class.

"Hello, class," he addressed them. "As all of you are aware, this is Dark Arts, and we will be learning to apply the Dark Arts to everyday lives… Today we shall learn to…"

His voice was already dead in Ron's eyes. The Dark Arts was not something he wished to learn. Besides, he couldn't bear to listen Carrow's unnatural watery voice or look at his unusually hideous face. Instead, he took pleasure in glancing aimlessly around the room and letting his thoughts wander where they would like.

Behind him, Draco watched Carrow with a cautious eye, the teacher's pupils lingering on him far too often. He had known Carrow would be studying him extremely closely ever since their run-in last week, but this was overkill. Every time he raised his head, Carrow;s eyes were boring into him. He found this a bit of an annoyance, since he had noticed Hermione's swollen eyes. He desired to comfort her, figure out what was the matter, but with the professor watching him so intently, it was nearly impossible. The only thing he could think to do was write a note – as first year as it might be. He jotted 'What's wrong?' on a scrap of parchment and sent it to her via _wingardium leviosa. _He just hoped the red-headed buffoon wouldn't notice.

The stiff paper slipped under her fingers smoothly, and she jumped a bit, startled at the touch. She relaxed, however, when she saw his ragged handwriting. She kept the note on her left to shelter it from Ron's curious eyes as she responded saying : 'Rather long story. Tell you tonight'.

The paper returned to Draco like a silent spy, delivering a covert message. He gently plucked the parchment from the air, read it, and replied : 'Same place?'. Of course he knew the answer was 'yes', but he always asked just in case. He didn't want to do anything that she didn't. The parchment fluttered to his desk, landing lightly on his _Direction of the Dark Arts_ book, and to his surprise, she had written that she wanted to meet at the place they shared their first kiss – by the lake. This idea excited him; he loved being outdoors, surrounded by unchanging nature. It was reassuring to know that some things, at least, in life, were never altered.

Smiling, he placed the note in his pocket, keeping it so he wouldn't forget their new rendezvous. Then he began to take notes on what remained of Carrow's lecture, which was not much, thank Merlin. After a few minutes of Carrow blabbering on about basilisks, the bell rang, releasing them from the prison of his classroom.

Amycus Carrow smiled gruesomely as the children quickly filed out the door. He had truly wanted to finish lecturing on why the hatching of basilisks should not be banned, but alas, things do not always go as planned. In fact, they rarely ever do. That is why his eyes caught now a small fragment of parchment laying in the middle of the rows of desks...

* * *

Lunchtime. Ginny had walked into the Great Hall alongside Hermione today, which had been beginning to be an uncommon thing. Perhaps she had taken Ginny's words to heart after all. Ginny prayed so. She tried not to look at Hermione differently now, to judge her based on her foolish decision, but a mild prejudice rose in her nevertheless. It told her that Hermione had betrayed her beliefs and friends; it warned Ginny to keep a safe distance from the danger that now pulsed around her. And the more Ginny tried to drown the thoughts out, the louder they became.

"Did you see Neville in herbology, Hermione?" Ron asked. "He was mixing some weird concoction with Tunalup Root…"

Hermione laughed, "Yes, Ron. That was the assignment. I can't believe that _I_ paid more attention in that class than you for once."

"Oh…" Ron blushed. "I suppose you are in a better mood now that our problems are sorted out."

"Yes, that's true."

"Not to be off-topic," Ginny said, "but I received a letter from Harry!"

"What?!" Ron and Hermione cried in unison.

Ginny pulled an envelope from her robes, and Ron snatched it from her hand. He ripped the letter out and began to open the folded parchment.

"Well actually it's from our mum, but it's _about_ Harry," Ginny admitted. "I suppose that's the closest thing we are going to get to his own writing. I was going to wait to open it with the two of you, but I couldn't. Sorry."

Then Ron recited quietly:

_"Dear Ginny,_

_Please share this letter with Ron and Hermione as I am sure they are as curious to Harry's whereabouts as you are. Don't be concerned with the safety of the contents in this letter. Your old mother still has a few tricks up her sleeve; everyone here at the Burrow thought I was losing my bearings by sending you a grocery list… Anyway, Kingsley and Nymphadora have been tracking Harry for a while now, and he is perfectly fine and currently searching for Slytherin's locket nearby. He believes that wretched crook, Dolores Umbridge carries it on her neck. He sends his love, I'm sure, to the three of you_

_._

_Love, your mother,_

_Molly Weasley"_

Ron closed the letter, and glanced at the two girls.

"Umbridge has a horcrux?" Ginny said disbelievingly. "Do you think she knows?"

"Knowing Umbridge she probably thought it was simply a pretty necklace…" Hermione said.

"But by now, wouldn't she have found that it is less than ordinary?" Ron suggested. "I mean I think I would know if I were carrying a piece of You-Know-Who's soul on a chain around my neck."

"Well, yes. I'm sure she knows that there is something different about it," Hermione replied, "but remember what Harry said last year. Fragments of Voldemort reside in the horcruxes, and they do anything they can to keep from being destroyed. The locket has most likely bonded itself to her, which means she won't easily part with it. Ooh, I hope Harry knows what he's doing…"

The group fell silent then, all reminded of Harry's constant peril. Ginny sadly wondered if she would ever see him again, feel his lips on hers, while Ron pondered over how Harry might retrieve the locket. Hermione tried to think of neither as she studied the back of her hands; she didn't enjoy picturing Harry in danger. She felt terrible for not being able to help him; it was unbearable to know she could be traveling with him, searching for horcruxes, while she sat worthlessly at Hogwarts, falling helplessly in love with someone Harry would never approve of…

She tried to remember all of the horcruxes that Harry mentioned. Of course there was the locket that belonged to Slytherin, and then there was the diary that had possessed Ginny in her first year, which was already destroyed. She thought she recalled Harry saying that there were horcruxes inside objects that once belonged to the four founders of Hogwarts. Slytherin's locket was one of them, and it had been a family heirloom. This led Hermione to believe that the objects that were chosen were of great importance to the owners. Maybe she would conduct a bit of research in the library tonight…

She smiled to herself at her excellent idea, making her feel slightly less guilty for leaving Harry on his own out in who-knows-where. Still, however, she doubted– even if she did figure out what the horcruxes were – that they would be in reach of Hogwarts. Surely Voldemort had been smarter than to put a piece of his soul in a school full of curious children, but… perhaps not.

* * *

Carrow turned the piece of paper over in his hand for the thousandth time, scrutinizing the writing that was penned on its surface in the dim, moving light of the candle on his desk. He recognized the cramped, boyish handwriting as Draco's, but the other curvy, feminine hand was foreign to him. The note was definitely passed during his class for he had swept the floors first thing that morning, and it was undeniably a note between lovers, creating a romantic meeting place. Perhaps the discovery of Draco's secret partner could finally put Lucius over the edge and Carrow would be at the Dark Lord's right hand in his place

Carrow folded the small bit of paper into his robes once more, watching the candle's flame flicker on the wick. A strand of white wax was rolling down the side like a serpent, and , upon reaching the base of the candle, curled up into a pool of white at the bottom of the bronze holder. He thought of the candle as Lucius's patience, dwindling and reforming into frustration every time Carrow delivered news of his son. And of course, just as with everything the Death Eaters do, Carrow had not completed these tasks without reminding himself of his personal benefits. He was so close to becoming Voldemort's closest follower that he could taste it on the end of his tongue, and he would not give up until he had achieved his goal.

He wondered absently if Draco and the girl were at the lake now, laying in the dew-stained grass and staring at the moon. Carrow wondered if he should take matters into his own hands and join their little party, and after he thought about it, he rose fluidly from his desk and hobbled out of the door.

* * *

Draco stood waiting by the tree he remembered from their first meeting, the one he was sure he would never forget. He hadn't been waiting for long, only a few minutes, when he heard a noise behind him. Startled, he drew his wand, pointing it in the general vicinity of the sound, but he the noise had stopped. He pocketed his wand reluctantly as he recalled the note he stuck in his pocket this morning. Of course he hadn't needed it for he had remembered with ease where they were to meet tonight, but he dug for it in his pocket anyway. His finger met nothing but dark fabric, and in a slight panic, his hand shot into his other pocket, desperately trying to find that tiny slip of paper that could turn his world upside down at the gaze from the wrong pair of eyes.

Then he abruptly ceased fidgeting as he saw her coming, her silhouette visible through the fog that had begun to spread over the Grounds. She smiled and waved she came closer to him. He offered her a quick kiss on her full lips as she hugged him. She knew he wanted to know why she had been crying earlier, but she wasn't sure she wanted to tell him. What would he think of her unprovoked worries? Maybe he would be afraid for she had uncovered his alibi, or perhaps he would laugh at her silliness. She personally didn't want to risk either reaction, but he was inevitably going to ask.

Then as if on cue, he stroked her cheek and whispered, "Tell me what's the matter."

She paused for a few seconds, penetrating his eyes with hers, trying to expose any dishonesty floating within them. However, she could find none and spoke, "Draco… do you love me?"

The question was rather odd to him and took him by surprise, "What kind of question is that? Of course I love you, Hermione. If I didn't I wouldn't have come out here tonight…."

"I know…" she sighed, trying to make him understand her fears. "But it's real, right? You aren't trying to make me feel safe and then pulling me into a trap?"

Draco furrowed his brows, "No! I would never do that to you, Hermione. If I was going to trap you, I probably would have by now. Besides, what good are you to me if I do not truly love you?"

"I'm best friends with Harry Potter, the enemy of the side you claim to have abandoned. I'm the one person he would probably come for besides Ginny and Ron, and you know that."

He had never thought about it before, but she was right. He had her wrapped around his finger, and, if her were still her enemy, he would have had her killed days ago. But this was different. How could he make her understand that? How do you tell the woman you love that you truly care for her?

He leaned forward to meet her lips, attempting to prove to her that he honestly had feelings for her, and she accepted his mouth on hers. Quickly, the small kiss escaladed into something more fervent. His tongue was running along the inside of her teeth, and hers was playing on his bottom lip. He wasn't sure how long they were attached that way, but it was much longer than either of them had ever kissed anyone before. He began to pull away slowly, but her lips followed as if asking for more. He closed his lips and opened his eyes only to find that Hermione had her lids shut and her mouth hanging slightly agape, still hoping for another lengthy kiss.

"Did that feel artificial to you?" he asked her.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked dazed, "No… but you always were a good actor."

"No one can feign true love, Hermione," he corrected her. "It's impossible."

She nodded light-headedly, her eyes a bit unfocused but still staring into his grey ones. He felt a little shaky, too, but he didn't let her see. On the inside, his stomach was flipping, and he wasn't positive exactly what had occurred to get him in this situation. The memory of the kiss was fresh on his mind, and it outshined every other thought from that evening.

"Okay…" Hermione whispered, her head thumping softly on his muscular chest.

She had never noticed it before, but her shoulders fit almost perfectly in the crook of his arm. His hand hung flaccidly from her right shoulder, and her hand twisted in between his, caressing his long fingers. He liked the way her skin felt against his – soft, innocent. It was nearly too wonderful to be existent.

"Hermione…" he whispered into her ear.

"Hm?" she hummed, too comfortable to talk.

"No matter what happens between us, no matter the number of mountains we have to climb or the valleys we have to endure, I will be on your side forever. Nothing can ever change that. I want you to feel like this always – protected – and if you are ever afraid or lonely or confused, I want you to be able to come to me and trust me. I am on your side, Hermione Granger, forever and always."

His hand was combing through her hair, as he studied her face. She was asleep, her breathing heavy on his chest. Strangely, she was even more gorgeous when she slept, her lips millimeters apart, as if whispering a secret to a traitorous friend. Her eyes were covered by her thin lids, her long lashes brushing the tip of her high cheek bones. It was hard for him to pry his eyes away.

Then suddenly, realizing how late it was, he looked at the sky, wondering how he was going to get her to the Gryffindor Common Room without being seen or waking her. He scooped her gently into his capable arms and began to walk towards the Entrance Hall. At this hour, there was usually no one monitoring the halls, and all the teachers – besides perhaps Filch – were typically asleep. He shoved the door open with his foot as he turned into the school. He carefully carried her up the Grand Staircase, careful of his footing, and turned into the hallway of floating staircases. He took the one that he normally took to Transfiguration to the seventh floor.

Upon stepping off the stairwell, Draco went right, remembering that Hermione always turned left after fourth period to go freshen up before dinner. He was also aware that the entrance to the Common Room was hidden behind a painting of the Fat Lady in a pink dress. It couldn't be that hard to find.

Father down the corridor standing in the shadows, Minerva McGonagall was just about to retire to her quarters when she heard his footsteps. She turned around to see Draco Malfoy carrying a girl tenderly in his arms. At first, Minerva's heart quivered for she thought the girl to be injured, but surely Draco's eyes would be more panicked if this were so. No, he looked extremely serene, and as he walked closer to her, she recognized that the girl was not who she had expected it to be. The two of them had finally listened to her advice and became friends – or judging by the way he was holding her close to his heart, perhaps more. Quickly and quietly, before he glimpsed her, she rushed forward, passing the painting of the Fat Lady.

As she whisked by she whispered, "There are two students coming. One of them is a Gryffindor and the other is a Slytherin. This is the one time I would like for you to let these students in without a password."

Then she kept walking as the Fat Lady replied quietly, "Yes, Headmistress."

Hermione stirred in Draco's arms, as he scanned the walls for the correct portrait. Then he spotted it, hung between two columns. The lady was quite fat, with black hair done it an ornate fashion. Her dress was frilly and a soft shade of pink with pearls draping from a large brooch on her chest. She was quite old, deducing by the wrinkles that were scattered around her eyes and mouth. He hugged Hermione close as he approached her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know the password."

"None needed, son," she said in a voice that corresponded with her face. "You seem to have friends in very unexpected places. Come inside and lay her down. The girl's dormitories are up the left staircase, but you may not go up, mind you. No boys allowed. You'll have to place her on the loveseat, dearie."

Confused by the old woman's words about his having friends, he stepped behind her, entering the Gryffindor Common Room for the first time in his life. It was decorated with an intricate burgundy and cream wallpaper, with swirling patterns and designs. Above him hung a chandelier, which was dimmed considerably due to the lateness of the hour he assumed. To his left was a circle of squat chairs, surrounding a low, wooden table. There was a fire burning in a fireplace on his right, and a long sofa sat in front of that. He decided that this was the loveseat the Fat Lady had been talking about, and he laid Hermione gently onto it. She rolled over, curling up onto the cushions, and hummed contently. Although he had no blanket, he was sure the fire would keep her warm while she slumbered. So with his good deed done, he kissed her lightly on the forehead and slipped out of the room, the portrait clicking behind him.

* * *

Carrow had not planned on having a pop quiz today, but questions were printed on the blackboard for the children to answer on a sheet of parchment. Almost every single one of the students groaned when they saw "pop quiz" scribbled in thick letters on the board, but Carrow did not care. He was determined to please Voldemort in whatever way possible.

When all of the seats were filled, he tapped his wand on the green surface of the board, "Pop quiz on basilisks! Due in by the end of the lesson. Please complete the questions written here to the best of your ability. You may begin."

He heard the rustling of paper and the scratch of pencils, as he glanced at the clock. Nearly an hour before class would end, before he would have the answer he hoped for. He watched Draco with hawk-like eyes, observing every move he made, but he could find nothing strange about him. Perhaps he was simply a master of pretend, like his father who pretended to be devoted to Voldemort when in actuality, he was slinking into the background of his organization. He would work silently until the time of war, and then he would run the other way like the coward Carrow knew he had been all along.

It was a pity that the boy was not stronger for Carrow thought he would make an excellent Dark wizard. If trained, he could learn to be ruthless for the fight for purity; Carrow could imagine him doing most anything, if asked in the proper way. But one can only push so hard before pushing away what they wanted near. Lucius had brilliantly failed at pulling Draco to him, and in fact, he had pulled so hard that Draco had jumped the gap and become nothing but a weak link in the Malfoy family tree, something Lucius should be ashamed of and something Carrow would make sure he never forgot.

The time ticked by, the second hand clicking annoyingly in the background. It tortured Carrow, feeling like something huge was sitting at his fingertips now but having to wait patiently for it. He tried not to think of how many times the second hand would have to click before his class ended and he could be left to his sleuthing. He tried not to count as the minute hand read only five more minutes… four… three… two… one.

"Time is up!" Carrow yelled excitedly, bouncing from his chair. "Please do not forget your names! It's very important to put your name on your paper today! Quill them in!"

And he rushed around the room, snatching up papers from the students' without warning. He met Draco, who inspected him thoroughly, eyes contracted into mere slits, and he reluctantly handed his paper in. He knew Carrow was up to no good, but he couldn't be sure what it was he was trying to accomplish so he left without words of distrust, although they flooded his mind.

Carrow, finally alone, shut the door behind his students and crept back to his desk. He pulled the crinkled love note from his robes, and sat it beside the papers he had just collected. Then he began to shuffle through them, searching for handwriting that matched. He sifted through at least twenty papers but, it wasn't until he had reached the bottom of the stack that he found what he was looking for. The questions and answers matched perfectly the tiny scribbles on the note Carrow had unfortunately not caught them passing. His eyes wandered to the top of the paper, in the upper right hand corner, looking for the name. And he saw it in perfect calligraphy – Hermione Granger.

He guffawed at this. This girl was a Mudblood, often mentioned in the Death Eater's small talk of Harry Potter. She was one of the Potter boy's comrades, and here Draco Malfoy was setting up a date with her. How embarrassed Lucius would be if he knew he own son was a blood traitor! He laughed again, this time out of joy rather than mockery, and he began to skip about the room, awaiting with bated breath the next time we would see Voldemort…

* * *

It was the dawn of October. The Death Eaters sat in the dining room of the Malfoy Manor, just like they always did on the first of every month and sometimes more often as needed. Some of the people in attendance disturbing, some of them nervous, and all of them silent. It had been utterly quiet in the room for a little over half an hour now – the only noise the crackle of the fire that blazed beneath the mantle. The lack of conversation was causing some of the table's occupants to become restless. The man two seats to the left of Lucius was beating his dusty shoe on the hardwood floor, and the woman across from him was tapping her long, filthy fingernails against the shiny surface of the table. Lucius Malfoy sat to the left of his wife, Narcissa, and on his other side was an empty seat, which his son would have been occupying were he not at Hogwarts.

Most of the Death Eaters' gazes were fixated on the individual seated at the head of the extravagant wooden table, in front of the fireplace. The back of his bald scalp was reflected in the mirror that hung above the mantle, slightly orange from the radiance of the roaring fire. His face was frightening, like that of a snake, with mere slits for nostrils and red eyes that seemed to look everywhere at once. He was so pale he was almost translucent, but everyone knew he was there. He was the reason _they_ were there.

"And what news have any of you to bring me regarding Harry Potter?" the snake said, breaking the deafening silence, the words hissing from his lips.

Several faces glanced around wearily, wondering who would risk putting their head on the chopping block and speaking. Naturally, it was Severus Snape who opened his lips as he did not fear the Dark Lord like most of the table's occupants.

"My Lord," he began, "Potter did not arrive at Hogwarts to finish his seventh year. His whereabouts are a mystery to me."

Voldemort raised his eyebrows – or the skin where his eyebrows should have been, "Did not attend Hogwarts, eh? Well then, the Order is more intelligent than we have previously assumed, as Hogwarts is not the safest place to be at the moment. Correct, Amycus?"

Amycus Carrow laughed aloud a long, soggy chuckle, "Not if I have anything to do with it, My Lord. Although some would like to believe otherwise."

Carrow glanced at Lucius for the briefest of moments, as Voldemort leaned into the table curiously. He hissed slightly as he eyed the professor, and then his red pupils shot to Lucius Malfoy and his wife.

"Something you wish to discuss privately, Amycus?" he breathed, attempting to sound casual, eyes still penetrating Narcissa's heart.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well…" Voldemort announced. "Any more information from anyone?"

His snakelike head swiveled along the table, studying each witch and wizard present. All of them shuddered under his gaze – all but those of the utmost loyalty. Bellatrix Lestrange sat confidently before him, and although she knew nothing about Harry Potter, she was still enthusiastic about Voldemort's success. Severus Snape, his most trusted follower, retained his calm yet intrigued features as he sat near Voldemort. And then there was Lucius Malfoy, seated smugly ahead of him, who for a time Voldemort had doubted wanted to continue his service to him, but now he was eager to prove himself and to prove his son, Draco.

"Severus," Voldemort said after a long pause, "discover what you can regarding the boy's absence. If none of you have anything to say, I believe this disappointedly brief meeting has been a waste of my time and has thankfully come to an end. Amycus and Lucius, I believe we have a matter to discuss behind closed doors…"

And with that, the table rose save for three occupants – Lucius, Narcissa, and Amycus Carrow. The others disappeared instantly – some Apparating and some using the Floo Network – and by the time the three remaining occupants gathered around Voldemort at the head of the table, the room was desolate.

"Amycus…" Voldemort said, gesturing for him to begin.

"Ah, yes," Carrow sighed, smirking evilly at Lucius, who did not flinch. "It is about Draco Malfoy, my Lord. He is in my first class of the day. It is quite a displeasure, actually. Nevertheless, I found this lying on the ground at his desk when he exited a few weeks ago…"

He pulled the note from his left pocket as he placed it in Voldemort's spider-like hands. The snake took it carefully and studied it, his expression changing from relaxed to surprised to slightly annoyed, and then he hissed, the sound echoing throughout the room.

"Why should I be concerned with Draco's love interests, Amycus?" he said intensely. "Are you not aware how much I an concerned with beside teenage love affairs?"

Amycus looked slightly offended as he stuttered, "B- but, my Lord. I – it's much more than that!"

"Very well, Amycus," Voldemort said, bored. "Share with us your dire concern. Perhaps the girl drown him in the lake on their first date?"

Lucius boomed with laughter, and Narcissa chuckled behind a cupped hand as Voldemort's face remained stone-still, his eyes lingering on Amycus.

"Upon finding this bit of paper, I compared the writing with the assignments my students have done," Amycus sneered, "and it aligned perfectly with the writing of a girl by the name of Hermione Granger."

Lucius ceased laughing then, his pale face losing what little color it had.

Voldemort perked up at this, "Hermione Granger, you say? Is she not that Mudblood friend of Harry Potter's?"

"Yes, my Lord," Carrow nodded, pleased with himself for he had witnessed Lucius's drained face.

"Of course!" Lucius exclaimed nervously. "Don't you see, my Lord? He is using the Mudblood to help us get closer to Potter, drawing her into a trap!"

Voldemort's expression did not change, "You humor me, Lucius. At seventeen, the only thing a boy possesses are hormones and a knack for getting into trouble. Neither of which were included in this 'brilliant plan' of his, I'm sure. Go to you family tree now, and I would not be surprised if he has joined your niece's blackened face."

Narcissa gasped at this, "My son is not a blood traitor, like my disgraceful sister and her daughter, my Lord! He will not be thrown among their ranks!"

"Narcissa, you speak!" Voldemort observed, as she rarely opened her mouth. "And unfortunately, dear, he has already sealed his outcome. At any rate, if Draco's intention, as you claim, Lucius, is to bring the girl to us, he has succeeded, and even if has truly fallen foolishly in love with her, we shall take the same action. Plans will be made, Lucius."

"Please don't hurt him!" Narcissa squealed, but the Dark Lord had vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

Lucius's breathing was heavy as he staggered to the foyer, leaving Narcissa behind in the dining room where she was hopelessly begging the ebony air to spare her only son. He grasped the handle to the family room, turning the golden lever quickly. He rushed to the west wall, where a large tapestry hung from the scarlet wall. He stopped suddenly gazing up at it. It was sewn elaborately with tiny heads that represented each member of the Black family, and a strip of a scroll was sewn beneath these faces, carrying the full name of the individual. It was an enchanted tapestry for whenever a member of the family betrayed the purity of the Black name, their woven portraits were scorched from the tree. He scanned over it, over the usual burnt faces – Sirius, Andromeda, Alphard, Cedrella, Marius, Phineus, Isla. Then at the very bottom, the youngest face on the tree, Lucius watched in agony as the portrait suddenly burst into flames. It cracked and sizzled as the fire died and left behind a frail black stain, so everyone who came to see the noble and most ancient house of Black would know that Draco Malfoy had betrayed them.


	5. Chapter Five: Discoveries

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER FOUR SUMMARY: Could there be a way for Hermione and Ron to find a horcrux in the so-called safety of Hogwarts? And what will happen when horcrux hunting turns into a disaster?**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

* * *

_**Chapter Four: Discoveries**_

**_"We discover in others what other hide from us, and we recognize in others what we hide from ourselves."_**

**_- Marquis de Vauvenargues_**

Hermione and Ginny were sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, books scattered all around them, tattered pages opened to random numbers. For the past week, they had been spending late nights reading reference books on the founders of Hogwarts, but they hadn't found anything of interest, save for the fact that apparently Salazar Slytherin had been quite flighty with women in his day.

Hermione's fingers ran delicately under the first line of yet another page. It seemed like the empty words never ended, going on forever and never answering any of their questions. But out of the dozens of books they had lent from the expansive Hogwarts library, surely there were a few with information they could put to good use. At the moment it wasn't looking promising, but perhaps they would come across something soon.

Ginny's eyes were pried from _Hogwarts: A History_ as the steps to the boys' dormitory creaked. Ron descended, looking tired, and came to take a seat next to the girls. When he didn't say anything, Ginny turned silently back to her reading. He looked around at the sea of musty books, wondering how Ginny and Hermione could possibly stay up this late reading. His brain shut down at the prospect.

"Haven't you two found anything yet?" he said impatiently.

The girls did not answer, their noses buried in the fold of thick pages, and, with no reply, he rose, deciding to see if he couldn't uncover something himself. As he stepped forward to pick up a small, fragile hardback, his foot caught on another's loose binding, and he fell, pages tearing from the ancient manuscripts and flying everywhere. At the sound, both girls jumped from their seats, dropping the books they held.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed worriedly, scurrying around the chairs to where he lay on top of at least a dozen books. "Are you alright?"

Ron glowed on the inside at her concerned tone, as she helped him to his feet and brushed the dust from his broad shoulders.

"Yeah," he replied, blushing as he gawked at the mess he just made. "I'm fine."

"Hermione, look!" Ginny squealed happily.

In her hand she held a faded page from the book Ron had just ripped apart. She handed gingerly to Hermione, who grinned as she scanned over it. It was an illustration – moving, of course – of the Founders in the library. At first glance, it seemed to be an ordinary magical drawing, but a closer look disproved this theory. Twisted gracefully around Salazar Slytherin's wrist was a long chain, on the end of which dangled a large, emerald stone.

"That's the Locket of Slytherin there," Ron said, seeing it too and placing his fingertip on the medallion.

Hermione nodded, examining the sketch even more closely. Slytherin was leaning casually against the wall, shockingly similar to the way Draco did, with one foot against a bookshelf. He was admiring the emerald rock that was wound about his forearm with a disturbing passion, almost as if he was in a trance. Occasionally, his black pupils would flicker to the others suspiciously, as if expecting them to steal his precious necklace. Rowena Ravenclaw was sitting at a table in the center, a book lain open before her – as was expected of the intellectual woman - but her eyes were not focused on the book. Instead they lingered on the tiara she wore on her head, filled with fear, as her hand gripped the diamond circlet. Helga Hufflepuff sat beside her, sipping every now and then from a ruby-studded goblet, both her hands clutching the cup. Her eyes were focused straight ahead, but she seemed unwaveringly aware of Salazar eyeing her from the corner of the room. And finally, partially unsheathing his famous sword and appreciating the yellow glint it created against the candlelight, was Godric Gryffindor. He seemed fully in control, not noticing – or possibly not caring about - Salazar's untrusting gaze upon his weapon.

"The other Founders have objects, too," Hermione pointed out suddenly.

"Gryffindor's sword is not a horcrux…" Ginny said, leaning over Hermione's shoulder. "It's hanging on the wall behind Dumbledore's desk, and if it were one, I think he would have figured it out and destroyed it."

Hermione nodded, deep in thought, "I think you're right."

"Well if the sword isn't a horcrux, how can we be sure that the crown and the cup are?" Ron asked.

"And where are supposed to find them?" Ginny added.

The three of them sat down, laying the drawing on the table between them, as they thought intensely, wondering what they should do. After a few minutes, Hermione stood, an idea flashing behind her eyes, and she snatched up the worn copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ that lay at her feet. In a frenzy, she ripped through the pages, searching frantically for the page she remembered reading about Rowena Ravenclaw. Only a few seconds passed, and she came to it, the chapter titled after the Founder herself. She had read it so many time before that she wasn't surprised to recall the passage now, but unlike the previous times she had read it, this time was important.

In her excitement Hermione recited aloud, "_'Throughout her adult life, Rowena Ravenclaw was the owner of a silver diadem – an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. It was an extremely prized possession of hers, rarely ever leaving her sight. She claimed it had powers that inflicted great intelligence upon the wearer and donned it often to render herself more clever even than she was naturally. In her house she had a single daughter by the name of Helena, and envious of her mother's attention, she stole the diadem in hopes of becoming keener than her mother. Afraid of Rowena's reaction to her evil deed, Helena fled to Albania and concealed the diadem in the hollow of a tree. It was ironically beside this tree that the Bloody Baron, sent by Rowena to return Helena to her home, discovered her. He asked her to come back with him so they could marry, but horrified of her mother, she refused. The Bloody Baron then murdered her in his anger and, seeing what he had done, killed himself as well. After her death, Helena became the Ravenclaw house ghost , calling herself the Grey Lady…_'"

Ginny and Ron exchanged glances as Hermione looked up, her brown eyes darting between the two of them. Both of the siblings knew what Hermione was getting at, and the smiles that gleamed on their faces confirmed it.

"Hermione!" Ron proclaimed happily. "You're a genius!"

"It really is a brilliant idea," Ginny agreed. "Do you think she still remembers where it may be?"

"It's possible…" Hermione said slowly. "Worth a try anyway."

"Where _is_ the Grey Lady at this hour?" Ron wondered.

"Most of the house ghosts stay near their house entrances at night, don't they?" Ginny said.

Hermione nodded, "Yes, and they are rather hard to find at any other time. Maybe it would be better if we visited the Ravenclaw tower tonight."

Her eyes flickered to Ginny and Ron, watching for their approval. She knew they wouldn't be able to get into the tower itself because of the password, but perhaps the Grey Lady would be hovering elsewhere nearby. However, then, even if she was near the tower, it was unlikely that after all these years, she would be open about the whereabouts of the heirless tiara.

"I don't know, Hermione…" Ginny said, giving the plan a second thought. "It _is_ extremely late, and it would be absolutely horrid if someone were to find us breaking curfew. Luna Lovegood is a Ravenclaw and presumably knows the Grey Lady better than any of us. Perhaps I could ask Luna to speak with her. With her unusual charm, Luna could talk anyone into anything."

Hermione considered it for a moment, then nodded, "That's a great idea, Ginny. Luna would be perfect for the task. Would you mind asking her about it tomorrow?"

"Not at all," Ginny smiled.

Silence befell them, the only sound the popping of the fire and the turning of pages. In the quiet, their minds wandered, lingering on very different thoughts. Ginny was repeating to herself to ask Luna their favor so she wouldn't forget. Ron wanted to destroy horcruxes as soon as possible, and Hermione thought absently of Draco. She was no longer heavy-hearted for betraying Ron, at least not as strongly as she had been the first few days. Now it was simply a dull twinge in the back of her mind, warning her of danger but not preventing her from diving deeper into it. Relinquishing the news to Ginny had been the best thing she could have possibly done to make herself feel emotionally better, but since then, Ginny had not specifically asked about Hermione's relationship with him. Occasionally she would ask Hermione casually about how it was going, but it never went further than a brief update – nothing too personal. Besides, she didn't want to say too much anymore. Draco had warned her that Carrow had been studying him unnaturally closely since the beginning of school, and he didn't want Carrow, of all people, to discover them.

A strip of wood shifted in the fireplace, making a shuffling sound. It pulled Hermione back into the present, and she turned her eyes to Ron, who was staring hypnotically into the fireplace, his pupils slightly fuzzy. Ginny was already asleep, her head leaning awkwardly to the side and her hands placed on the pages of a book. Hermione sighed as she stood up, dreading the cleaning of this room, yet, she reached down and began to gather books in her arms and lug them back to the library.

* * *

Draco sat amongst his new enemies at the Slytherin table, feeling unwanted but feared. No one would tell him to move, but no one would insist that he stayed either. He was securely in the middle, safe from their words but not from their disgruntled presence. He rather liked thinking in peace, without the idiotic interruptions from his worthless friends. Hermione had not paid him much mind earlier that day, and now she sat with her back to him. Draco didn't mind though. He wanted her to be happy, and although he would much rather be with her, he respected her need for other, more relaxed friends. However, upon glancing at them across the room, they seemed anything but relaxed. In fact, they were abnormally tense, as if they were expecting something but not knowing from what direction it would come. Draco observed as the Weasley girl – whom Hermione had mentioned was called Ginny – continued hurrying back and forth between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables. He was curious, but did not say anything as he recalled who surrounded him, the heartless monsters.

He looked to his left and right and saw that the seats were unoccupied. None of the cold-blooded snakes wanted to sit with the traitor of their parents' merciless leader. None of them desired to be seen with him. He shivered as he realized that he was already being shunned by his housemates when they didn't even know the worst of the story. Shunning now would be violence later if they ever knew the truth behind what he was doing. No one would be on his side then, and no one would be left to take the blame. Pansy was glaring at him with hate-ridden eyes a few seats down the table, a lock of her dark hair dangling in her face and hiding one of her intense eyes. Unfortunately it did not lessen the uncomfortable effect the pupils cast on him. It honestly didn't bother him that she disliked him more than everyone else did, seeing as that was what he wished she had done long ago. What did bother him was being alone again, in a place that he had thought would repel his loneliness, but instead, it had followed more closely.

Because of this, he was thankful for Hermione Granger. He wondered if she knew she had saved him. Probably not. Little knew of the intensity of his pain, of his being at home, and no matter how many times he tried to explain his emotions to her, she would never understand either. Nevertheless, she connected with him and helped him wash those memories away for a time, and perhaps that was the closest she would ever get to comprehending his anguish. She could never tell what it felt like to receive the Dark Mark, to smell the burning of your own flesh, nor to watch it slowly become an evil scar. Her life was vacant of a severe father, a father who did nothing but tear you down to build you up the way he wanted you to be, and she would never be able to relay exactly what it felt like to be responsible for someone's death, to hear their painful silence and know it wouldn't have been possible without her help.

And a tear dropped to the table as he realized that he could speak of those things with experience, that he knew what emotion each of them entitled. He felt the laughing eyes along the length of the table, and he knew they were watching that solitary tear, as if that drip of saline meant he was defeated. He heard Crabbe and Goyle laugh mockingly somewhere beside him, their eyes burning into the side of his head. Then, against his wishes, another tear slipped between his lids, joining the first in a small puddle on the table, and embarrassed, he escaped through the Entrance Hall.

* * *

"Did you ask Luna if she would talk to the Grey Lady, Ginny?" Ron said quickly, eager to take down part of the enemy.

Ginny smiled, "She said she would love to help us out."

"Excellent," Hermione grinned, as she pulled a sandwich from the stack floating in front of her. "Now all we have to do is wait for a reply from her."

Ginny and Ron nodded as Hermione took a bite of her ham and cheese sandwich. Her eyes were not focused on anything in particular, but her mind was. She thought about Harry, her best friend, off fighting who-knows-what in the wilderness, and she beamed at the idea of helping him from the safety of Hogwarts. She knew he would appreciate it because although the Order was very diligent and strong about protecting him, Harry was not much without his best friends. Even he knew that, and she was positive that Ginny missed him the most. She saw it every single time she looked in her eyes – that emptiness, that hole he usually filled – and she was so good at keeping it hidden. Hermione longed to be able to cover her feelings like Ginny did. Maybe then loving Draco would be easier…

She looked up, hoping to see him for just a moment, but he was not sitting where he normally was. Her eyes scanned carefully up and down the table, but to no avail. Draco was not there. Then she spotted the door to the Entrance Hall swinging solemnly on its hinges. Concerned, she rose from her seat quietly, feeling Ron's suspicious eyes fixated on the back of her scalp, but to her relief he did not make a move to follow her. Ginny watched her walk out the door, letting her go for she knew who sat on the other side. She could not stop Hermione from loving him so she did not try anymore.

Hermione clutched the heavy, iron door handle. It was cold, and something told her the sight on the other side wouldn't be much warmer. She stepped into the deserted Entrance Hall, the only sound an echoed gasp, a hiccupped breath, a crying boy. She hurried around the steps, looking for him, and she turned swiftly to find him sitting on the marble stairs, his robes spread around him like a pool of black water. His hands and face were drenched in tears, and he did not look at Hermione as she sat down softly beside him. She placed her hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly, as if she could wipe the pain away with the brush of her dainty fingers, but he continued to sob and her heart continued to ache for him. Even after the weeks they had spent together, Draco Malfoy remained a mystery to her. She had no idea why he cried now – or any other time for that matter. She couldn't tell you how he felt or what he thought would happen to him when he returned home. But something – perhaps all of it – was torturing him to tears, and she couldn't bear to see him this way.

Draco could feel her fingertips caressing his shoulder blades, trying to comfort him, and he had to admit, he did find his pain slightly subsided. However, it was not enough to heal him completely. He was still alone; he was always alone. Hermione was his only refuge now, his only true ally, and although the idea calmed him, the tears still fell, pounding his chest and wetting his robes.

"What is it, Draco?" Hermione said, swiping one of his tears aside.

He sighed, "Ever since I left home, I've been having nightmares, Hermione. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it's true. I see the faces of every person I have let die since becoming a Death Eater. I see them scream just like they did when he killed them, their voices reverberating in my head. Watching someone die in front of you and knowing you could have stopped it is like killing them yourself. It feels almost as worse. Though perhaps it isn't all that bad or people who actually condone murder, but… for me, it's always been different."

"Your father doesn't enjoy that I would guess…" Hermione said, laying her head on his arm.

"Not at all…"

"Does that bother you?"

He whispered, as if reluctant to tell her, "He and my mum get in rows about it all the time."

"I've never met your mum…" Hermione speculated. "What is she like?"

"Nothing like my father," Draco said sadly. "She is avid about purebloods, but she is much more uncertain when it comes to Voldemort. I'm almost convinced she hates him actually… She is the only real parent I've ever had. Or the closest either of them is going to get to being a real parent."

"I'm sorry," Hermione said sympathetically.

"Look, Hermione," Draco said a bit forcefully, "I know you feel the need to be sad for me, but I honestly don't want you to. I'd just as soon forget about both of them than have you pity me. Besides, I'm probably never going back home anyway."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, concerned.

"I've been thinking about it for a long time now, Hermione," he admitted quickly. "Don't think it's because of you. But I believe I'm ready to leave home; I need to. It would be better for me. The only reason I've delayed this long is because of my mother. I don't like the thought of leaving her by herself with my father. I don't trust him."

"Because of their fights?"

"Yes…"

Hermione stopped asking questions, her mind whirling with new information. She never imagined how brutal Draco Malfoy's life really was, and seeing it now was eye-opening. She wished others could see this side of him – this vulnerable, troubled side. Maybe then they would not scorn him for being the strongest of them all, for rising above everything he had been taught and throwing it all away for something new and worthwhile. This is who Draco was, not the young man his father had forced him to be, and one day Hermione prayed people would know that.

* * *

Luna wore a lopsided smile as she approached the Ravenclaw tower. She knew the path well, seeing as she traveled it multiple times everyday – the fifth tower from the Entrance Hall was the one. She inhaled deeply, breathing in the earthy aroma of the night air. Her neck strained as she gazed to the top of the tower, where the Grey Lady would sometimes sit on the pointed rooftop, her classical gown flowing down the sides, but she was not there tonight.

The stars were not visible on this dim, cloudy evening, and Luna shuddered in the darkness of the moonless night. An owl cooed hauntingly in a distant tree, waking a hungry wolf who howled morosely across the Grounds. Suddenly, she wished nothing more than to turn around, but she knew that Ginny would never back away from a challenge. And this pushed her onward.

Ginny Weasley had approached her at lunch earlier that day and given her a mission – to find if Ravenclaw's diadem was a horcrux and, if so, where it was hidden. She delighted in the idea of helping Harry Potter succeed in his endeavors to ruin You-Know-Who, and so in the task which was placed before her. Of course, she was slightly nervous, for even though she had spoken to the Grey Lady on several occasions before, she wasn't sure this topic was exactly something to discuss with the angry spirit of an heiress.

She wandered into the woods, hoping to find the ghost sitting against a tree as she sometimes liked to do. Sometimes, the Grey Lady would go so far as to rummage through the holes in the trees, searching wildly for something that was never there. Luna absently wondered if the ghost was insane or living in the past. After all, Luna had heard the stories of the lost diadem. The Grey Lady had stolen it from her mother, and no doubt she was searching for it in the trees of Hogwarts, hoping to find her mother's favor once more. Luna pondered whether or not she knew it was much too late for that.

A figure flashed between the trees fifty feet ahead of her, the tail of a dress swishing behind a tree. Luna edged nearer, the wolf baying loudly now, filling her ears with its ugly melody. Cautiously, she came to the other side of the tree, and when she looked at the ground, she saw her, staring blankly ahead. She was beautiful. Her face was pale and chiseled with the features of a princess, and her nose was like a gorgeous snowy mountainside, sloping downward. Her eyes were dark and dancing, matching well with her elegant brunette hair tied halfway up with a light blue ribbon. But her body was translucent, the dirt and grass partially visible beneath her and the bark of the tree seeable behind her.

The Grey Lady glanced up as Luna approached. Her expression did not change as she looked at her – the ghost's eyes boring into her. Luna shivered, feeling a bit uneasy, as she maneuvered in front of the ghost so as to speak to her.

"Miss Grey Lady?" she whispered cautiously.

"Yes, girl? You look familiar to these ghostly eyes. Are you not in my mother's house?" the spirit said, her silky voice echoing even through the trees that surrounded them.

"Yes, m'lady. My name is Luna Lovegood."

A dash of recognition ran across her stunning face then, "Ah, Luna Lovegood! Of course! How could your face evade me? We have exchanged words before! Well, Luna, whatever can I assist you with on this fine evening?"

Luna smiled, "Actually, miss, I was hoping you could tell me about your mother's diadem…"

Luna flinched as the Grey Lady's elated features shifted instantly into terror. Luna feared that perhaps she had approached her question in the wrong way. Surely the Grey Lady had tried to forget her crime, and here this tiny girl was, shoving the remembrance back into her brain. It was few seconds before the ghost responded.

"Wh- why ever would you want to know about that?" she stuttered.

"I'm sorry, miss, to bring it up," Luna apologized quickly. "It's for the benefit of a friend."

"Depending on which friend you desire to benefit, I may answer your query, young child…"

"Harry Potter," Luna replied smugly, knowing the Grey Lady would cave in at that name.

She gasped, "Harry Potter, you say! And why would the Boy Who Lived require to know the location of the Ravenclaw family heirloom?"

"He believes it contains a bit of You-Know-Who's soul and was going to go about destroying it, actually," Luna replied bluntly. "I highly doubt Harry would want to wear it, but perhaps I am mistaken and he would enjoy waltzing about in a tiara…"

"He is going to destroy it, is he?" the Grey Lady said, raising her thin eyebrows. "Well I would think that would be doing us both a rather large favor. He can have his bit of soul and I can bring to a close the reminders of my malicious past."

"Right," Luna nodded. "But first, I must ask you. Did a boy by the name of Tom Riddle ever confront you about the diadem?"

The Grey Lady put her index finger to her chin and lifted her eyes to the blank sky, trying to recall if such a thing ever happened. It took a few minutes, and Luna began to wonder if the ghost remembered much of her human life.

"Well it seems like a young boy did come asking me about it at one time or another…" she said suddenly, "although I'm not sure of his name, and of course, there have been many children ask me to tell the story over the years – an offer which I have openly refused scores of times… But this boy was the first to ask me where it might be hidden. It seemed an innocent enough question to ask. After all, what would a boy only about a year older than yourself be wanting with an old, rusted tiara? I told him that it was still concealed in the trunk of the tree where that filthy rat, Bloody Baron found me, thinking it would be safe to disclose this information, but the next time I went to make sure it was still tucked away inside that tree, it had vanished – stolen, no doubt by that little, mischievous boy…"

"Where do you think I could find it now, miss?" Luna asked.

"Oh," the beautiful ghost said maternally. "I haven't the faintest idea, dearest, but if there was anyone who would know, you might try finding that boy and asking him…"

Luna almost laughed, "I don't think I will be doing that, m'lady. I'm sure he would not be very pleased with me."

"Well, shame. I rather hoped you could bring him here and I could teach him a lesson or two about tampering with ghosts' things… No good busybody, troublemaking…"

Her voice trailed off as she floated away, leaving Luna with at least half of her question answered. She disappeared as she edged to the end of the wooded area, and Luna turned around, going back to the Entrance Hall where Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were waiting for news. She was glad that the conversation had been fairly short, for Luna had become cold in her time outside. She hurried indoors, where the candles on the walls radiated heat and she could warm herself.

"So?" Ginny said enthusiastically as Luna stood on her tiptoes to warm her hands against a torch.

"She told me that there was a boy that asked her where it was once, but she couldn't seem to recall his name. I'm assuming, however, that it was indeed Tom Riddle. When I asked her where it was now, she claimed to be ignorant, and so we have only one piece of the puzzle…"

"But where to find the other?" Hermione wondered out loud.

"You-Know-Who would not have returned it to the tree after making it a horcrux," Ron observed. "It would be too obvious."

"He was in school at the time…" Hermione pointed out. "He couldn't have gone far."

"Actually, Hermione," Luna interrupted her thoughts, "the Grey Lady told me he was about a year older than me, which would make him a seventh year when he asked her about it. Surely he did not get the chance to travel to Albania during his schooling. I could be misguided I suppose, but…"

"No, Luna, you're right," Hermione said, frustrated with their lack of answers. "It could be anywhere."

"We can't find it until we know where it is…" Ron said dumbly.

Hermione, annoyed, spun on him and cried, "Wow, Ronald! Brilliant observation! Thank you. You have solved all our problems, honestly."

"Good Merlin, Hermione," Ron said in surprise. "Sorry for trying to help. I'll be sure not to do it again."

Then he walked slowly up the steps, leaving the three girls behind to discuss the perplexing matter. They did not talk for long, simply stating and restating facts they already knew, and soon, becoming bored of repeating themselves, the girls went their separate ways. The front door shut loudly behind Luna as she headed off to the Grounds once more, as Hermione lifted her foot onto the first step of the Grand Staircase. However, it did not stay there for long. In a matter of seconds, her hand was around Ginny's wrist and they were headed into the dungeons. She had an idea.

"Where are we going, Hermione?" Ginny yelled as Hermione dragged her down the uneven steps. "We're not supposed to be down here!"

Hermione ignored her as she tried to remember the directions Draco had given her to get to the Slytherin Common Room. Two rights turns and one left? One left turn and two rights? What had he told her? She tried her hardest to recall what he had said, but it was all one jumbled mess. Perhaps he had kissed her afterward; that usually erased most of her short-term memories. She shouldn't have come into this foreign place with being confident she knew the way. Now she and Ginny were walking aimlessly through the dungeons, looking for a painting or anything that resembled a door, but there was nothing but rocks and dripping water in this desolate dungeon.

"What were you wanting to do down here anyway?" Ginny asked.

Hermione still did not answer. She squinted her eyes for she could have been sure there was someone walking ahead of them, and as she moved closer and saw the back of his blonde head, her heart leapt with joy. Why was it that he always around when she needed him most?

"Draco," she whispered fiercely, trying to get his attention.

He spun around quickly, his face a mask of alarm, but it swiftly melted into elated surprise as her face caught in the light of the torches.

"Hermione?" he said, laughing a bit.

"Oh, Merlin…" Ginny mumbled as Hermione pulled her towards the boy.

The two of them embraced tenderly and he kissed her right ear. Something shot through Ginny then, a sort of fear – a fear for her brother. Hermione had been telling the truth; Ginny could see the ferret's face drowning in a flood of happiness, caused by Hermione unexpected presence. But perhaps he was only a good actor…

"What are you doing down here? I thought Hermione Granger didn't break curfew," he smiled.

"Yeah, Hermione," Ginny said showing a bit of an attitude. "What _are_ we doing down here?"

"I need to ask you something…" Hermione said, pulling herself onto her tiptoes and playing with his collar.

It was strange to Ginny to see the two of them in such a tender position when only a few year before, the had been bitter enemies. Hermione had punch him square in the jaw during their third year for goodness sake! She kissed him briefly on the lips now, and Ginny thought she might be ill from the mushy sight of them. She prayed that she and Harry didn't look like this when they were together.

"Anything you want," he whispered, glancing up agitatedly at Ginny.

"Last year when you were in the Room of Requirement, repairing the cabinet, were you in a room full of useless things?" Hermione asked.

Draco cringed at the recollection of the previous year, "Yes."

Ginny smirked, knowing where Hermione was going with this now, and she spoke next.

"Did you happen to see a tiara when you were in there?"

"A what?' Draco said, taken by surprise.

"A tiara," Ginny snatched the opportunity to mock him. "You know, a pretty crown. You wear it on you head and – "

"I know what a bloody tiara is, Weasley!" he snapped. "And no I didn't see one, but there were a lot of things I didn't see in that room. I was sort of… preoccupied."

"Oh yes you were!" Ginny retorted angrily. "Readying your Death Eater comrades to come and kill all of us is what you were preoccupied with!"

"Ginny…" Hermione said, pulling away from the Death Eater to gently clutch her best friend's arms. Then she whispered so quietly that Draco could not hear, "Please don't. Those days are long behind him. He needs to forget about it."

Ginny glared evilly over Hermione's shoulder, watching with disdain the boy who was slowly creeping into her life by way of Hermione. She would have to repay her for that later, but now was not the time, and this was not the place. The fiery red-head decided to trust Hermione this time, believing reluctantly that Draco Malfoy's life as Death Eater had ended, and as she did this, the rage in her blue eyes faded.

"What in the bloody heck is the problem with Gryffindor girls and their tempers?" Draco said, exasperated. "Why she tag along behind you in the first place? No one was supposed to know about this remember?"

Ginny did not say anything as she folded her arms across her chest, and Hermione turned to Draco Malfoy once more.

"Well obviously you're a better keeper of secrets than I am, Draco," Hermione replied cynically. "I had to tell someone or I was going to explode. I know you can empathize with that feeling."

He was silent as the words sunk in, and he glanced nervously at Ginny as he spoke, "Alright. It really doesn't matter anyway. So why do you need to find this tiara again?"

Ginny glanced worriedly at Hermione, whose eyes were locked on Draco's. Was she honestly going to tell him about it? Ginny would admit, the boy was more civil with her than she could have ever imagined, but she still didn't trust him.

"I can't explain it now, but it's important," Hermione replied carefully.

"I believe you," Draco said, their noses rubbing.

Ginny rolled her eyes, tired of their gooey kissing and hugging.

"Ahem!" she coughed loudly, making the couple jump. "We really should be going to find the tiara now, Hermione."

Hermione nodded, blushing, "Right."

But her hand was intertwined with Draco's, and Ginny knew she was not going to divide them tonight. She graciously let the happy couple follow her upstairs and into the Entrance Hall. They went up the floating staircases to the seventh floor, at which point Hermione and Draco were still holding hands, and he was grinned stupidly over her head. Ginny had never noticed it before, but he was unnaturally tall.

"Why don't you open the door, Draco?" Ginny suggested. "Since you've opened it so many times… I think I'm going to go to bed."

Ginny was positive she could open it herself, but she didn't like watching Draco and Hermione coo over one another. In fact, she almost hated it. She wasn't jealous or angry. She was simply frustrated that Hermione was not listening to her warnings. There was no doubt that Draco had her wrapped around his finger, and it would take only one false seduction to cut the string.

"Is something the matter?" Hermione said, worried.

"No, it's just been a long day…"

And she walked down the corridor towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione was afraid that she had upset Ginny. Perhaps she and Draco should have taken it easy since Ginny was not used to them being so close yet.

"Go ahead…" she said to Draco.

Draco nodded and thought hard about the vanishing cabinet, his insides shaking as he tried to remind himself that he was not entering the room for the same reason as before. When he had passed the painting for the third time, the invisible door clicked open to their left. He stood outside, allowing the girls to step into the ever-changing room first.

When they entered, they were instantly overwhelmed. Before them stood a room full of useless junk, a storage for sneaky students gone by. If any of the items in this room were a horcrux, she would never know it, and it would take days - weeks even – to search through all of this rubbish. But she was determined to help Harry, and if she felt in her heart that there was a horcrux contained in the stomach of this room, then she trusted that there was and vowed to find it.

She began to rummage through a trunk, trying to make contact with everything. She felt for a differ in temperature, or perhaps some sort of pulse. And she was so preoccupied that she hadn't noticed Draco had stopped following her when he stepped over the threshold. He now stood at the entrance - which had already sealed itself shut – his eyes locked on a tall cabinet that stood to his immediate left. It was covered in a thick layer of dust, but it was the same as he had remembered it – ornately designed and pointed at the very top. How many days had he spent in this exact room, trying to repair that stupid piece of furniture for the benefit of, what? His father? The Death Eaters? Voldemort? And where had that gotten him? Not anywhere he particularly enjoyed. Indirectly, he had killed someone that night, or at least set in motion the events that caused the death. That fact hit him hardest now. He didn't deserve Hermione any more than a snake. He was cheating himself, taking what was never destined to be his, by loving her.

"What's wrong with Malfoy?" Ginny whispered suddenly.

Hermione looked up now, her face still beautiful despite the dull lighting in the room. She looked at him, following his eyes to the magical cabinet that stood eerily in front her, like a soundless monster. His silver eyes were lost, remembering something from long ago that, perhaps, he thought and wished he had forgotten. She thought she saw a tear run down his pallid face, as the painful recollection swirled in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" she wondered out loud, ceasing her search for a moment.

"Nothing…" he said, finally turning from the cabinet. "What are you looking for?"

She hesitated, trying to decide whether or not she should tell him about the horcruxes. She wondered if the Death Eater even knew about Voldemort's soul-splitting. It was likely that he had never told them; he didn't seem like the type to sit a circle and share feelings.

"I'm not sure…" she said honestly, for she had no clue what the horcrux might be. "I'm just feeling items for something different."

He narrowed his eyes, "Something different. Okay…"

And he began to look in a heap of junk against the wall. This aimless search went on for some time, Hermione finding odds and ends like abandoned books, rare potions ingredients (which she shoved in her robes for future use), several bottles of mead, and at least twenty old, musty robes, among other things.

She was becoming frustrated and almost quit when something suddenly caught her eye – a tiara, placed atop a manikin's bald scalp. It shimmered brightly, even with no light in this forsaken room, and something about it eerily drew Hermione to it. Jewelry hung around it, hanging from the manikin like a cascade of diamonds, but the tiara still governed her view. She extended her arm, her hand hanging limply from it, and she knew this was it – the horcrux she was looking for. Her fingertip had barely swiped the silver metal when it stung her. The metal was burning white-hot, and she almost yelped as her index finger throbbed painfully. She drew her wand, hoping that a simple spell would suffice for she had no idea how to destroy a horcrux.

"_Confringo!"_ she cried, aiming directly at the tiara.

As the spell clinked with the sparkling metal, many things happened at one time. The spell she had cast brushed over the headdress, flashing white, and then the metal exploded into thousands of tiny bits. At the same time, her ears filled with screaming, some coming from unknown places, but one in particular originating from somewhere beside her – Draco. The rushed around the corner, holding her ears for the overwhelming shrillness of the tiara's screeching, and she saw him doubled over on the floor, grasping his left arm.

She rushed to his side, her arm hovering over him but afraid to touch him and cause him pain. Then she glimpsed the end of the snake, writhing on his arm, the burnt flesh moving underneath his robes. Her destroying of the tiara must have set off some sort of trigger, causing the Dark Marks to move agonizingly on the bearer's skin. Although, she was dreadfully sorry for hurting Draco, she couldn't help but feel a bulging sense of accomplishment for destroying part of the enemy.

"What in the bloody heck did you do, Granger?" he said through clenched teeth.

"I found what I was looking for…" she replied cryptically.

Draco roared once more in pain before saying, "Are you going to enlighten me on what that is since it's causing me physical pain?"

"It was a… tiara… that… uh… had a piece of Voldemort's soul in it?" she said, hoping he would believe her.

The burning in his forearm had stopped now, reduced to a numb feeling. He was still holding his arm though as he stared at her through his white lashes, perplexed at this information. He had known there was much Voldemort kept secret, and this seemed like something he would try to refrain from disclosing.

"It what?" he said, trying to comprehend.

"It's called a horcrux. It's a rare form of dark magic in which the caster can split his soul into pieces and become virtually immortal. The only catch is that you have to murder someone before doing it. They say that murder mangles the soul, rips it apart, and therefore, that is the only way to split yourself in twos or threes or… sevens. Then the fragment of soul is enclosed in an object, in this case a tiara, and only when that object is destroyed is the bit of soul released and killed…"

Draco stared at her with a blank expression, "Well I'm still completely confused, but thank you for the explanation, Granger…"

"Well, someone is in an ornery mood…"

"Yes, I've heard that feeling like the skin is being ripped from your body can usually have that effect on you," Draco drawled sarcastically.

"Sorry about that," Hermione apologized sincerely, helping Draco to his feet.

He sighed in return, but he didn't make a move to leave. Instead he stood still, his eyes lingering on Hermione, assessing her angelic face, her brown locks that cascaded in ringlets down her thin back. He thought about her compassion, her intelligence, and her bravery, and he suddenly felt guilty for everything he had ever done to betray those innocent truths.

"What?" she giggled, blushing slightly pink.

He shook his head, feeling a wave of depression rolling onto his desolate shore, "I don't deserve you, Hermione. You must have done something seriously pitiful to have won me as your prize."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm not a good person, Hermione!" Draco said loudly, his voice cracking. "I've done things that should never be done, spoken lies that should have never escaped my lips, and recklessly wished for something desirable to fall into my lap. But now that she has, I don't think I'm worthy enough to claim her. All my life, I've let trophies plummet into my hands with no indication as to how they got there or how they were won, and all along it's been something that I am ashamed of, something I should have never been proud of. But that's how I was raised, Hermione. I was raised believing in the superiority of purebloods and in the ruthlessness of Voldemort. That's all my father ever talks about – how he wants me to be the strongest Dark wizard alive, how he wants me to succeed in all my evil endeavors. He's never seen me as anything more than a symbol of the family, an award on display for my so-called "excellent upbringing". I'm his boasting rights, his medal of honor, but not his son, never his son… You don't want me, Hermione. You don't, I promise."

Hermione kneeled down beside him, deeply saddened by his hopelessness in himself. She placed her hand on top of his, as he stared at her with tearful eyes – eyes that had seen much hate and little love, eyes that had hoped to gain the world but lost so much in the process. They told his story now, a series of tragedies strategically placed in the perfect times for his failure. Now she understood. All along, her guesses of what was causing his troubles had been mistaken. He didn't fear the Death Eaters or being alone or even Voldemort; he was afraid of becoming his father.

"Draco…" she whispered. "Don't ever, ever say that. Everything happens for a reason, and you are here with me now, not because of a game you never won, but because you are _meant _to be here with me. We are _meant _to be together, Draco. Everything that has happened and will happen in the future is supposed to be, and we can't let that stop us from moving forward, from loving each other. It means too much…"

"I know you're right…" Draco admitted. "I just… I'm afraid."

"As am I," Hermione agreed.

"Don't be," Draco said comfortingly. "I'll protect you, Hermione Granger. I can promise you that."

And they sat there in silence for a long time – longer than either of them had anticipated – as the time ticked away. The footsteps outside their door, but they did not hear through the silence that seared between them. It seemed that this was a moment when the quiet said more than words ever could. It whispered noises of security and passion between their lips, efficiently replacing the words that would only lessen the power of the thoughts that lingered in each of their heads.

* * *

Ron stood outside of the Transfiguration classroom on his way to find Hermione and Ginny and see how Luna's investigation had gone. Minerva McGonagall watched him with thoughtful eyes as she made her way to her quarters. She heard Ron behind her, and found that he looked rather perplexed. Professor McGonagall was surprised, also, that Hermione had not bothered to _show up_ to her lesson earlier that day, but even more shocked that Draco Malfoy had not attended either. Although it was not uncharacteristic of Malfoy to skip class every now and then, it was utterly unusual for Hermione to do so, and to notice both of them miss class on the same day was something of a bother to Minerva.

"Can I help you Mr. Weasley?" she called from the shadows of the hall.

The boy jumped a bit and said, "Actually, professor I was looking for Hermione."

"Ah…" she replied. "I'm sorry to say, Mr. Weasley, but Miss Granger regretfully have not seen her today as she did not attend my class this afternoon. I was quite unpleasantly surprised."

"Oh, that's a bit odd, but thank you Prof –"

"Ronald?" Professor McGonagall said, interrupting him.

"Yes, Professor."

"I would like to ask a favor if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all…"

"Make sure Miss Granger is alright. As you probably know, she and Mr. Malfoy are Head Students, and they were both absent today. I'm slightly concerned, although it could be purely coincidence, but I fear they could have planned to skip together. Malfoy may be the most inattentive pupil I have ever had the misfortune to teach, but he is _never_ absent, Mr. Weasley. Will you be a dear and assure she is not receiving an unhealthy influence by him?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Ron nodded, trying to remain enjoyable while rage burned deep inside of him.

"Thank you," McGonagall smiled.

Then he turned from the doorway, his robes trailing behind him like a cloud of unease. Swiftly, he came to the painting of the Fat Lady who guarded the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room. As he approached, she began to ask for the password, but he mumbled it during her attempt at courtesy. She huffed as she swung open her painting to allow him to go through. Inside, there were many people chatting. Ginny sat at a desk in the corner, writing a letter to Molly Weasley.

She looked up as Ron approached, her eyes widening at his angry demeanor. He looked purely livid, and she prayed that he did not take it out on her for she was not far from his heated mood. She had come into the common room and began to write a letter to her mother, explaining that they had found and destroyed a horcrux at Hogwarts. She had written the note in an attempt to brighten her mood, but it did not seem to be working.

"Where is Hermione?" he said through clenched teeth.

"Room of Requirement. She just destroyed a horcrux," Ginny answered blandly, "but I wouldn't interrupt if I were you."

Ron narrowed his lids, his dark blue eyes merely slits, "Interrupt what?"

"If you go, you'll find out I suppose… but I don't recommend it. I had to leave because of it."

Not particularly caring what he saw when he arrived at the Room of Requirement, he stormed down the corridor, searching for that dumb painting of trolls. What could Hermione possibly be doing in that room if the horcrux hunt was over? Why would Ginny trade destroying a horcrux and being with Hermione for sitting alone in the common room? His head was spinning as he walked past the door for the first time, thinking without effort of what Hermione was up to. For the second and third time he passed the door and it clicked open softly, but suddenly, Ron was doubting himself. Did he truly want too know what Hermione was hiding behind this door or was he invading her privacy? But then again, they were best friends, and best friends shared secrets, didn't they? Unwillingly he put his palm on the cold stone, pushing the door silently forward.

Upon first glance the room was empty, but Ron heard breathing and movement to his right. He spun around, hoping to find Hermione browsing over a pile of unwanted items, but the unwanted item she was browsing was not exactly what he had had in mind.

Her hands were on his neck, wrapped around it like a charmed snake, and she was kneeling by his side, her knees collecting dust on the floor. Her eyes were closed, but Ron didn't need her eyes to tell him that she was enjoying every last breath of it. She was leaning passionately into him, so close it was almost uncomfortable, and he was holding her protectively around the waist, his long hands almost meeting at her back. Ron was so shocked that he couldn't move. His words were stolen from him by that ugly Death Eater, and every time he tried to speak, his words were blocked by a barricade in his throat. Tears gathered in the corners of his pleading eyes, as he tried to believe that the image before him was a result of his imagination, but his senses observed differently. He was numb, his body gone cold from the sheer picture of their lips melded together. He could not hear or speak or move; the only thing he was capable of doing was watch them through blurry eyes.

Ron barely remembered Draco's left eye opening a single millimeter and his body pulling away from Ron's best friend. He scarcely recalled Hermione's head snapping in the direction of Draco's gaze as she saw him standing there, tears spilling down his frozen face. After that he didn't remember anything, just yelling at the girl he thought loved him, the girl he thought knew better than to love Draco Malfoy. And as he tried to forget about it, there was one thing he knew was true : he didn't want to remember it ever, ever again.


	6. Chapter Six: Consequences

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER SIX SUMMARY: Everything has gone wrong. Ron is no longer speaking to Hermione, Ginny is distant, and it seems the only one who cares about her is Draco****. And just when she thought it couldn't get much worse, it does.**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

* * *

**Chapter Six : Consequences**

"_Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices."_

_Albert A. Montapert_

Amycus Carrow sat arrogantly in his office, stroking the surface of his desk with a short, crooked finger. His eyes were focused on the lines his nails traced in the wood, and he grinned evilly as he realized it was only a matter of time before he claimed what was rightfully his – the seat at the right hand of the Dark Lord. He did not doubt that he would enjoy every second of Draco Malfoy's suffering and would love to watch Lucius pay for his son's mistake. The scheme was to take place on Halloween, directly following the feast in the Great Hall. The two lovers would make their way to their so-called secret hiding spot, but Carrow already knew about their hideaway tucked in the depths of the Grounds, hidden in groves of trees. He had followed them there almost every day to prepare for the Dark Lord's plan, and soon he would be able to execute it. The plot was wicked to say the least. Perhaps some of it was unnecessary, and maybe there was an easier way to accomplish their task. But this approach would sink the knife deepest in the Draco Malfoy's heart, and he would know he had been punished.

* * *

Ron was sitting on his bed, dangling his feet over the edge of the mattress and watching his feet with unfocused eyes. His limbs were heavy, and his heart was like lead, broken but still beating. After what had happened last night, getting out of bed was the least of his worries, but it was still a chore. Ron had never felt this terrible before, and it seemed like everything was harder to do with a broken heart, like the fragments stuck you every time you tried to do something worthwhile.

Neville passed by his four-poster, on his way back from breakfast, which Ron had decided to skip this rainy morning. He turned to look at him and shook his head.

"Are you alirght, Ron? You look terrible."

"Yeah, yeah, Neville," Ron mumbled sleepily as he slid from beneath the sheets.

His fingers fumbled for the latches on his truck and unclipped them, lifting the lid of the ancient box. From inside, he pulled his robes, gathering them in his arms. They felt heavier than usual, but then again, what didn't feel heavy today? He stepped into them, not even checking to make sure that his appropriate badges were pinned on. He only had two – one for Gryffindor and one for being a prefect – but they were usually firmly attached. Why would he bother checking something that he knew was secure? Oh, that's right. Because she might snog Draco Malfoy behind his back.

Neville, being the generous lad that he was, stood at the door and patiently waited for Ron to get dressed. He watched Ron struggle with everything. He knew something was wrong, but he didn't want to be nosy and ask about it. So he observed silently Ron's unusual mood. He had finally pulled on his robes and, without even checking his appearance in the mirror, Ron was going down the spiral staircase into the common room. Neville listened as he stomped unnaturally loud on the steps. Ron thought that if Hermione were downstairs, she would hear him coming and prepare herself.

Upon stepping off the staircase, Ron looked curiously around, searching for her backstabbing face, but to his relief she was nowhere to be found. She was probably meeting that stupid Death Eater somewhere and walking to class with him for a change. The image of them snuggling in the Room of Requirement played and replayed itself in his head, and every time it did, Ron vanished deeper beneath the water, feeling almost invisible.

Ron was perplexed by the entire situation. When had this happened, and why hadn't he noticed it before? Why would Hermione fall for a Death Eater and not her best friend? Did she honestly believe Malfoy's weak attempts at affection? And the more Ron thought about it, the more questions that arose and the more confused he became. He was stuck in the middle of something that he didn't understand, and throughout all of it, the only one hurt was the only one who didn't know.

Although it seemed rather comical compared to the larger issues, another thing that bothered him was that Hermione didn't even come out of her way to tell him they had found the horcrux. She had known that he had been looked forward to it all day and all night, but she was so busy having fun with that stupid ferret that Ron didn't even cross her mind.

He and Neville stepped into the busy hallway, faces flashing past them in a blur. It made Ron dizzy to watch, but he unsteadily followed behind Neville as they headed downstairs. Ron was so wrapped up in his own roaring thoughts that he barely noticed Neville step off onto the third floor. He simply continued on his way as Neville politely waved goodbye, walking the memorized steps to Dark Arts class, the class he dreaded the most.

Hermione was standing outside the door, but Draco was not, which brightened Ron's mood considerably. Of course, he knew that it would be foolish for them to be together in public if they didn't want anyone to know about their relationship, but he tried to see the positive as he walked into the class. Draco was already in his seat, leaning on the back legs of his chair, and Ron wanted so badly to kick those tiny wooden supports from under him. He envisioned it all the way to his desk, and laughed under his breath as he sat down.

Draco was staring at him, sucking his cheeks in and frowning – his usual sneer. His eyes were locked on Ron, shooting into him and mocking him. They seemed to say, 'I stole your girlfriend. What now, Weasel?'. Ron, feeling uncomfortable, pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing on it just so he wouldn't have to look into those ugly silver eyes. He scribbled, running his quill in circles and praying Malfoy would look away soon, but he didn't until Hermione walked in.

She looked more confident than usual, and she rolled her eyes as she took a seat next to Ron, shifting to the very edge of her seat as if to avoid contact with him. He was glad she wanted to stay away from him because, honestly, he wouldn't mind being away from her for a time either. Maybe then she could have fun with her Slytherin boyfriend… and maybe he could have a chance to cool down and get his mind straight. He still loved her; that much was definite. But with Malfoy around, there was only so much love left for her to share with him, and he was beginning to believe he had never been destined for her heart in the first place.

Draco stared at him from behind, his grey eyes watching Ron's every move, waiting on the moment he would gain an excuse to put him to waste. Although, when Draco recalled the scene from last night, a string of guilt wrapped around his throat. Weasley's face had been as empty as a starless sky, his eyes slowly filling with tears that were on the verge of spilling over. At first, he hadn't said anything, just stood there dumbfounded, but after lingering there in shock for a few minutes, he shook his head and began to walk the out the door. That's when Draco, mouth agape, had felt Hermione slide from his arms, rushing to the door, calling Ron's name. Ron had turned on her quickly, yelling something about trusting a Death Eater and then rushing down the dark hallway.

Then, of course, she had cried, burying her face deep in Draco's chest, her tears wetting his collar. Unsure of how to react and thinking it strange that Hermione would look to him – the cause of the problem – for comfort, Draco stood quietly, stroking the back of her head.

"I'm sorry…" she had sobbed in his ear, although she had nothing to apologize for.

"No, I am," he insisted. "Things will get better, Hermione."

He knew that this statement was true, but he had an uneasy feeling that things were destined to become much worse before they got any better. And now here he was watching Hermione and Weasley's friendship suffer because of their decision. Obviously it didn't matter to him personally, but it did to Hermione and therefore, to him.

They were definitely awkward sitting next to each other now, with Hermione sitting, hands in her lap, with her head bowed slightly. Draco saw her pupils run apologetically up to Ron's face, but to add to Draco's annoyance, he did not bother to return her gaze. Draco could tell Hermione regretted Ron finding them together, but Weasley was too spiteful to accept her silent apology.

Ron did not desire to talk to Hermione as he stared dully at Professor Carrow. Why didn't Hermione understand that Malfoy came from the same side as Carrow did? What set Malfoy apart from the other scum? What made him so special? Surely Hermione didn't enjoy Malfoy's company more than Ron's. But obviously she did, and to Ron, this was a slap in the face. In his anger, Ron jumped swiftly from his chair as the bell rang, stalking briskly into the corridor. Hermione and Draco exited separately, trying not to attract the attention of Professor Carrow, whose snarls and glares had boosted in number over the past few weeks. Frankly, although he did not say so, Draco was becoming slightly nervous. After all, there was no doubt that Carrow had been sent by Voldemort to scrutinize Draco, to critique him, to torture him, and surely Voldemort had dispatched someone he knew would be adept at this task. So why was Carrow missing so much… or was he?

Draco waited subtly outside the door, grabbing Hermione's arm as she came out of the classroom. She jumped, not really expecting to be assaulted, as Draco pulled her to the side so quickly that nobody noticed them behind a thick stone pillar. His eyes were dancing, glittering mischievously in the rays of sun that shone down from the stained glass window above them. Uh-no, Hermione thought.

"What do you say you and I play hooky this period, Granger?" he said, smirking as he played with a loose piece of her chestnut hair. She blushed, not sure how to respond. Although she thought perhaps she would like to be alone with him for a while. "Come on… I know you don't want to sit with Weasley the entire hour…"

"No, definitely not," she replied, sold now on skipping class. Anything to escape Ron's tormenting.

"He's being an a – "

"Draco, as if I need to be reminded," she interrupted him before she suffered a stress-related meltdown. "Every time I try to make nice, he completely ignores me! It's so frustrating."

"So, he's not ready to be friends again, Hermione," Draco said, trying to impart to her the workings of male brains. "Give him time. You don't have to rush back into anything; honestly, I wouldn't mind if you never rushed back in at all…"

Hermione huffed, not really in a joking frame of mind as she walked down the empty hallway towards who-knows-where. Draco followed her, practically jogging to keep up, but with his long legs, it was no problem. In a matter of seconds, he was quickly walking by her side, in sync with her steps.

"I was joking, Granger," Draco made a face. "I'm going to make you laugh before this hour is up. I promise."

"I doubt it, Malfoy. I am not in the mood."

Draco grinned, "I like a good challenge."

He followed her up a staircase and down a corridor when they found themselves on the second floor, standing completely alone. But just to be sure, Draco pulled her into an empty classroom so they could talk in privacy. Dust lay everywhere, half an inch of it covering everything – the old, beat up desks, the scratched blackboard, the massive books that were stacked waist-high in the corner. It didn't seem to Hermione to be the ideal place to spend an hour chatting, but it was quiet and out of the way.

"_Scourgify_," Draco muttered as he pointed his wand at a couple of desks.

The dust blew off of them, leaving behind rickety but clean places for them to sit. Hermione pulled herself onto the desktop as Draco did the same, turning to face her. As he settled onto the desk, Hermione realized their legs were touching, one of her knees in between both of his, but she kind of enjoyed being close to him like this and feeling his warmth.

"So…" he said, breaking off her cozy thoughts.

"So…" she echoed, not sure what to talk about. "Why don't you start the conversation this time since every time I start it, it ends up coming to a bad end?"

"True…" he chuckled. "We always come out talking about death and whatnot. Shall we honestly attempt to avoid it this time around? For the sake of sanity?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Promise…" Hermione said, raising her right hand playfully. "And remember, you still have a promise to keep, too, Malfoy. I'm counting on you to cheer me up."

"Right." he said, suddenly slipping off the desk and wandering over to the books in the corner. "Good Merlin, these are prehistoric… I wouldn't be surprised if they're written in runes."

He flipped open the front cover of the book lying on top, dust cascading to the floor in a tidal wave. He coughed a few times as the dust rose to the ceiling and mixed with the sunlight, making an eerie fog effect. Hermione tried not to smile as Draco meandered out of the filth, still coughing profusely.

"Are you okay?" she said, waving her arms in the air as if feeling for something and trying not to giggle. "I can't see you! Oh woe is me, I think I'm lost! Come save me, oh noble Knight of Slytherin!"

She put a hand to her forehead and swooned like she had seen women do in the old movies her mother loved to watch. She peeked out of one of her eyes so as to witness Draco's reaction. He was laughing, coming through the fog towards her, bulging his chest heroically as he scooped her into his arms and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Your safe now, my Mudblood Princess."

She tried her best to hold it inside, to keep it hidden so as to beat him at his own game, but nevertheless it escaped, that stubborn giggle of hers. When he heard it, he looked down at her in surprise, and then a smug smile was plastered on his face. He had known she couldn't resist as he himself was having a difficult time containing his laughter.

"Don't say it…" she said, waving a finger at him and laughing.

"Okay, I won't…" Draco said, letting Hermione stand on her own two feet. "I'll save it for a time when I can use it against you."

Then he rushed out of the room, laughing at their childishness and admiring that, for once, he wasn't afraid to be silly. It didn't matter how stupid he acted as long as he was with Hermione, and it made her laugh. He took off down the hallway, hearing Hermione's quick steps behind him, and thinking on his feet, he hid behind a column, arms stick-straight at his sides. He heard her footsteps getting nearer, echoing down the corridor, and knowing she was right beside him now, he jumped out and hugged her from behind, throwing his arms carelessly around her waist and spinning her in one quick circle.

She screamed and giggled as he did this, and hoping no one heard, they hurried downstairs and into the Entrance Hall, hands intertwined. They weren't sure where they were going, letting their feet gain a mind of their own. It wasn't long, however, before Hermione became out of breath and came to a halt on the Grounds in front of one of Hogwarts many towers. Neither of them had noticed it before, as it was not as tall as the others and the windows were darkened. Hermione guessed by the looks of it that no one had been up there in years.

"That's the old Defense Against the Dark Arts tower," Draco said, staring up it. "My father used to talk about it being taught in a tower, but I always thought he had just forgotten where it had really been."

"A tower doesn't seem to be the ideal place to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts…" Hermione observed.

"Well, for a while, especially when my father was in school, the Ministry was strict," Draco explained. "You remember Umbridge, I'm sure? It was like that… only perhaps more pleasant. There was no hands-on dueling allowed so they didn't need much room I suppose… Where are you going, Granger?"

Hermione hadn't noticed before, but she had slowly been edging towards the door of the building, curiosity getting the best of her – again. She didn't answer Draco as she tugged on the door handle, which did not budge.

"It's probably locked to keep people like us out…" Draco grinned behind his white lashes. Then he watched as Hermione whispered alohomora and the door clicked open. "Or not."

She still didn't hear him as she pushed open the door, the hinges creaking as she did so. It was dark, the light broken up by the grime that covered the windows, and as she entered, she felt Draco behind her, an orb of pure light radiating from the end of his wand.

As she studied the room in the artificial light, she noticed that there were many desks piled around the edges of the circular room – one on top of another. She also observed the chandelier hanging low above their heads, most of the candles missing from its many holders. Pushed against the desks was a blackboard, still clinging onto a bit of chalk – enough to make out the words. It was an assignment from long ago, and as Hermione stared at it, she glimpsed a date in the upper right hand corner – 1971.

Draco had followed her over to the chalkboard and seeing the date said, "My father would have been in his sixth year… Probably in this very class."

To their left was a staircase, spiraling upwards to the top of the tower, and not able to resist, Hermione took it slowly step by step. She hoped it was still strong enough to hold she and Draco, as it was quite old. Draco was still on her heel, silent and carrying his wand in front of him. If she had been looking, Hermione probably would have found that Draco was quite handsome in the white light, but she missed her opportunity as she came off on the first landing, eyes floating curiously about the space.

It was an old storage room, still full of potions and ingredients for such. Although the bottles were covered in dust, her heart leapt for she knew they were all unopened and usable. Hundreds of tiny bottles sat on their shelves, filled with a vast array of liquid. From yellow, to blue, to black, to invisible, the liquid in the corked beakers were almost all different. She would have to remember this place in case she ever required something to make a concoction.

"I thought you said this was a Defense Against the Dark Arts…" she marveled as she looked up to find more bottles on the next landing. "It looks more like Potions."

"Perhaps this tower was used to store all of Snape's potions…" Draco suggested as Hermione shot a perplexed look. "Well you wonder where he put all the successful Potions assignments he received, Surely he didn't simply throw them away… I wouldn't."

Just as Hermione was considering this to be a possibility, a bell rang in the distance, and Hermione began to kiss Draco good-bye. But as her lips pulled away from his, he grabbed her hand, pulling her back.

"Weasley will be coming from the greenhouses," Draco pointed out. "I assume you don't want to deal with him right now?" She shook her head. "Then stay here with me for few more minutes."

"Alright," Hermione consented. "But I am going to lunch after the few minutes are over. Are you coming?"

He nodded, "But I'll come in after you so Weasley won't get mad."

"Draco," Hermione rolled her eyes, "as if he won't guess where I have been."

"True," Draco said, staring straight ahead.

They went back down to the ground floor, and when Hermione was sure most of the students were in the Great Hall, she offered Draco a tender kiss on the lips and hurried out the door. Draco smiled at her, as she opened the front doors and went inside. Draco looked out the door at the sky, which was swirling with dark clouds. Rain was inevitable so it seemed, and what a shame it was for the weather had been so wonderful the past few days. Oh well, what was rain to him anyway? Rain does not trouble a drowning man…

Slowly, he walked to the front doors, the wind blowing strongly and whipping his hair and robes about. He could hear thunder grumbling in the distance, shaking the earth as he pulled on the door handle. He heard the garbled voices in the Great Hall, but could not hear any one conversation – just one massed gurgling. He pushed open the door, embarrassed, as he sat down alone at the Slytherin table. He saw Hermione sitting with the Ginny Wealsey still, but Ron sat farther along the table with Neville and Seamus. Ginny did not seem to be as irate as Ron, though perhaps a bit annoyed, and she talked to Hermione as they ate.

"He's being absolutely ridiculous!" Hermione was saying.

Ginny shook her head as she took a sip of her pumpkin juice, "I don't know, Hermione. I think he's being quite fair with you."

Hermione huffed, "I try to apologize, he acts as if he doesn't hear a word I say, and you think that is fair?!"

Ginny shrugged, "I'm just saying that he _loved_ you, Hermione. I know that you two were never dating, and you are permitted to date whoever you would like. But he doesn't understand what you see in Malfoy, and frankly, neither do I…"

"But you knew, Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, gesturing in frustration. "You knew before Ron did! Why is it that now you decide to be against me?"

Ginny smiled sympathetically, "I was never _with_ you, Hermione. I told you I wasn't the very first night I knew, outside the kitchens. I warned you that he was tricking you, that he was lying to you, but you didn't want to listen so I stopped trying to persuade you."

Hermione just stared at her, feeling suddenly alone and helpless. Why were her friends, who claimed to be true to her, so quick to prove otherwise? If they would only give Draco a chance and if he, in turn, would do the same, they would understand. But Ron would never do that for he was too stubborn, and Ginny simply tagged long behind her brother.

Hermione looked down at her food, abruptly losing her appetite, and she excused herself, walking out the Great Hall doors. She could feel the tears burning her eyes then tickling her face as they streamed down in rivers. She stepped outside, collapsing against the stone wall. The jagged rocks scraped her back, but she didn't care as she began to sob. She couldn't help herself; crying just seemed like the right thing to do right now, after being abandoned by her own best friends. She was crying so hard that she barely felt the rain on her shoulders, turning her robes an even deeper black. Distantly, she heard the thunder, and the lightning flashed through her closed lids. Then something warm caressed her shoulder, and she looked through puffy eyes to find Draco standing over her, his hand resting on her arm.

"You should come back indoors…" he said casually.

Hermione liked the way Draco never asked questions, never wondered every second if something was wrong, and when he knew something was the matter he never asked about it unless you wished for him to. After years with Ron's persistent questions, this was a relief to her because right now she wanted nothing more than to be upset and to cry; she had to release some of the pressure that was weighing her heart down.

"Come on…" Draco was saying, holding out a wiry hand for her to grab.

She took it, if only to feel his skin on hers, as the raindrops became larger and the wind blew, shifting the drops sideways. Shielding her face from the stinging mist, Hermione shut her eyes tightly as Draco pulled her into the Entrance Hall. It was dry and still inside, and Hermione suddenly felt foolish for going outside in the first place. She looked at the doors to the Great Hall, where on the other side sat the friends she was losing because of feelings beyond her control. It was unjust, she knew, that she should get the low blows when they were the ones that were creating an issue. Their fear of accepting Draco for who he was – and not who his father had forced him to be – was sickening to Hermione.

Still hiccupping a bit, Hermione slid her hands under Draco's arms, wrapping her hands around his shoulder blades. Then she rested her head on his chest, right below his chin, and he embraced her gently, putting her head in the crook of his neck. They stood like that for a long time, when the bell for the end of lunch rang, and reluctant to part, Draco kissed her quickly on the forehead and went upstairs to his next class.

* * *

Weeks went on like this. Hermione was invisible to Ron save for the occasional glare, Ginny did not speak to her except to point out yet again that Draco had not changed, and Draco never failed to catch her in his arms when she decided to fall. For although her relationship with Ginny and Ron may have been dying slowly, her bond with Draco could not have been stronger. They were seeing each other a lot more often as Hermione gave up trying to ask for forgiveness from Ron and took the time instead to talk with Draco. She still sat with Ginny at lunch, only to hear her complain about what trouble Hermione was getting into, and this made Hermione wonder often why she continued to eat lunch there. Something about holding onto that seat made her feel more at ease, as if maybe Ron and Ginny would not be there all the time, but that the seat was always vacant anyway, signaling that the spot was always open

She and Draco had been talking a lot by the lake, where his spot had quickly and happily become theirs. Thankfully, they no longer struggled to keep their conversations away from painful thoughts. By now, Hermione had learned that Draco would bring the topics of his family up on his own when he wanted to talk about it. Most of the time they chatted about how their day had gone or just goofed around, however, as Draco did not often desire to talk about himself.

Halloween was fast approaching – only two nights away – and everyone was anticipating the annual Halloween feast with immense joy. With Halloween came the largest feast at Hogwarts – besides perhaps Christmas – and the students always did their best to attend. Hermione had written Harry a Halloween letter and sent it by owl to him; she hoped it would get to him on time. Ron and Ginny, Hermione noticed had also written letters to Harry, but Hermione doubted Ron's contained the traditional "Happy Halloween". She wouldn't be surprised if all three of her best friends despised her before the year was over.

Hermione was on her way to Dark Arts, books in hand and walked purposefully down the hallway, when someone came from behind her. She already knew who it was, as he always met her on this corridor, but as a precaution, she couldn't hold his hand and was only allowed to glimpse at him. Not that that was really possible anyway as he always walked a few feet behind her. She wasn't sure why all of a sudden he had banned their being close in public; well, she understood _why _she just didn't get _why now_. They had been walking together for weeks now, and nobody had seemed to notice them yet. The fact that Draco was becoming nervous made Hermione twice as uneasy, as if something terrible was just around the corner, waiting for the right moment to spring…

She turned into the class, Draco lingering at the door and then coming in behind her seconds later. Ron was already in his seat, but she had learned to ignore his presence in the time they had been spending away from each other. He barely even registered on her radar now. He seemed to have discovered a way to keep his mind off of her, too, as he did not flinch when she sat down, his eyes focused straight ahead.

Throughout the class, Draco was uneasy, feeling Carrow's eyes on him for almost the entire lecture on the Imperius Curse, and every time Carrow's bulging eyes pierced him, the dreadful feeling in his chest grew tighter. It was as if he had fallen into a pit and no one could ever scoop him out. The look in Carrow's eye was not hatred as it had been a few weeks before; now it was self-satisfaction, as if he had dealt under the table and walked away with more in his pocket than he had anticipated. As if he knew everything. Perhaps, even as much as Draco had tried not to let him uncover it, he had still managed to find out about Hermione. Draco knew if this was true, Voldemort would have no problem killing both she and Draco in one swift flick of a wand. If Carrow knew, they might as well be dead already…

During lunch and Transfigurations, Draco did his best to hide it from Hermione, to let his worry disappear behind the mask he used so often. He joked and talked with her like he always had, and he was relieved that he was keeping her from the truth. Besides, the very last thing she needed right now was something else to prod at her mind. The Weasley twits were both ignoring her, Potter was off doing whatever he was doing, and she also had to uphold her end of their secret. Draco was not about to add to that list.

After dinner they had finally escaped everyone, going to the one place where they were always alone – the lake. Draco sat down against a tree as Hermione joined him, laying her head on his shoulder. Her eyes wandered up to his angular face, the moon making it a ghastly white. The eerie moonbeams shone into his eyes, an orb of light reflecting from them, but past that, she could see his silver irises. Something was off-balance in them, a certain emotion that set them off-kilter, but she couldn't for the life of her name what it was.

"Something is the matter," Hermione said, touching his cheekbone and turning his face to her. It wasn't a question.

He gently grabbed her hand on his face, his palm completely enveloping her tiny fingers. He was looking straight in her eyes, burning her again with those glowing grey spheres. Then he pulled her hand to his lips, his mouth lingering there for a moment. Hermione shivered at the tiny kiss.

"I love you," he whispered. "Nothing is wrong as long as that is true."

Hermione shook her head, still grasping Draco's fingers, "That's a lie. Tell me what is wrong… because I love you, too."

"I don't know what is wrong…" he admitted. "Something just feels… different."

"I've felt it, too," Hermione said as his eyes wandered to hers. "It's almost like there is something awaiting us in the shadows, hoping we will get close enough so it can attack."

Draco was silent for moment, his heart beat too fast to speak. Hermione had just described the tight feeling in his chest, and suddenly he realized it was fear gripping him so firmly. Fear that they had only days before being ripped apart by Death Eaters, fear that, after tonight, they may never see one another again, that he might have his life stolen from him once more by the snake his father served.

"Yes, something along those lines," he replied finally. "We just need to be more careful, Granger and have a plan incase… well… incase - "

"Incase they come for us," Hermione finished morbidly.

Draco looked at her hand, so fragile and yet so strong, and he wondered how she could be so ready to take on the enemy, how she continuously had the strength to keep pushing ahead. Of course, he was not afraid of dying, especially for something he believed in, and he did not doubt Hermione felt the same way, as he looked into her wide, brown eyes.

"If we stay together, they will have less of a chance of capturing us…" Draco suggested.

"But they also have more of a chance of getting both of us…"

"True… but at least then we will be together."

Hermione was quiet, deciding that it didn't really matter if they stayed together or not. If Voldemort knew about what was happening between them, both of them would die or be tortured into insanity, whichever happened to be first on his list. As of right now, Hermione was not particularly scared because Draco was with her, but she knew the moment she stepped into the Gryffindor Common Room she would be too frightened to drift into sleep. So she was determined to stay as close to Draco as possible for much-needed security, at least until they uncovered the danger they both sensed.

* * *

Hermione walked to breakfast alone, her hands swinging lazily at her sides. Colored light illuminated her face, shining through the stained-glass windows high up on the stone wall. The air blowing in from the open breezeway was cold and bitter on this Halloween morning, bringing a chill of tension upon its wintry back. Freezing, she tucked her arms to her sides, her hands gripping the fabric of her robes. Her brown eyes wandered to the window, squinting at the clouds, which were dark and swirling like ebony serpents ripping through the sky.

Her footsteps quickened as the wind picked up, causing her hair to fly out behind her and her robes to thrash about at her heel. With her heart beating wildly for reasons she could not identify, she hurried down the steps and into the Great Hall. Instinctively, she glanced at Draco, who was sitting alone again, his long fingers tracing curving patterns onto the table. He felt her eyes on him and looked up smirking. Hermione smiled weakly in return as she went to sit with Ginny once again.

Ginny did not raise her head as Hermione sat down, but as this had become routine, Hermione did not mind. She simply grabbed her plate and filled it in silence, wishing for time to pass more quickly. As she picked a piece of toast from the stack before her, she was suddenly aware of someone staring at her. She looked up in the direction she felt them, only to find one pair of pupils boring into her – Amycus Carrow's. Hands shaking, she unfolded her napkin into her lap, trying not to notice his unbroken gaze. Ginny noticed her tenseness but did not say anything as she placed a forkful of scrambled eggs in her mouth. Nervously, Hermione took a nibble of her toast, clutching the crisp bread with both of her tiny hands. She didn't know why the Death Eater was watching her so intently, but something told her she didn't want to. Her legs wanted to get up and run as far from Hogwarts as she could, go find Harry, and stay with him until of this darkness evaporated.

But that was impossible now.

Dark Arts was the worst it had ever been. Carrow did not speak, but instead wrote an assignment on the blackboard – one that was totally irrelevant to the lecture he had given the day before. He took the time he should have spent teaching to scrutinize Draco and Hermione, eyes narrowed at them and a sly smile spread gruesomely on his face. Draco was positive he knew now; his gaze was too confident to be ignorant. But how could they protect themselves if they did not know from where the punishment would come?

Hermione tried to concentrate on her work, but she couldn't and finally resorted to doodling on her parchment. It was enough to temporarily distract her until the bell rang, rescuing her from torment. She hurried into the hallway and waited anxiously on Draco to exit. He stepped out of the classroom and, seeing her hiding behind their usual column, took a long step toward her.

His grip was tight on her arms as she gazed helplessly into his silvery eyes, "What is going to happen, Draco?"

Her voice was barely audible, fear choking her. He pulled her to his chest, stroking her back, and deep in thought he admitted, "I don't know. Just don't leave my sight."

She nodded, a frightened tear dripping down her face, and slipping from Draco's arms, she slowly began to walk to the Grounds. He stared after her protectively, thinking hard about what Voldemort might do, but no matter how hard her tried, he could never force himself to think like that monster. His plans were always so unpredictable that it was almost impossible to decipher which tactic he might use. But one thing Draco knew for sure was that no matter the executioner, no matter the crime, Voldemort would make his punishment as painful as possible. He would torture him with death, with hatred, with lies, until Draco finally crumpled at his feet and gave him what he wanted. The trick was to keep in mind everything he had sacrificed and what he had sacrificed it for. He was doing the right thing, and no snake was going to steal that knowledge from him.

* * *

Night fell upon the castle – a starless, moonless night. The clouds had become blacker as the day had worn on, and now they mixed, like a sinister mist, into the midnight sky. Lights flickered in every window of the castle, the yellow rays beating onto the Grounds outside and casting cubicle patterns onto the dirt. Noise could be heard inside the walls, echoing laughter and happiness over the Entrance Hall, but it seemed to stop when it reached the darkness outside, as if joy could not pass outside this night. Perhaps it was only the fact that it was Halloween, and the sky was eerie because of this, like by magic it was trying to create a threatening atmosphere for the occasion.

But no one inside Hogwarts noticed the gloominess out of their windows, for all of them were sipping pumpkin juice and chewing candy merrily under the glow of the jack-o-lanterns that had replaced the usual floating candles in the Great Hall. Bats fluttered sporadically over their heads, screeching and chirping loudly. Pumpkin pies the size of bicycle wheels were placed at intervals along all of the tables, most of them already over halfway eaten. Everyone was in good cheer, including the teachers who sat contentedly at the High Table, eating meals of their own. However, one of the teachers was not present at all, and the sight of his empty chair sent chills down Hermione's spine.

For hours, the feast had been raging on, students and teachers alike stuffing themselves with enticing food that would not stop appearing under the noses, but still, among all the mirth, Hermione couldn't find it in her to enjoy herself. Too much could go wrong tonight, too much could be at stake. She could not allow herself to get whisked away by the celebration and forget that she and Draco were at risk.

Inside her pocket sat the slip of paper that Draco had given her so long ago, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, it burned. She jumped, startled at the sting, but when she realized what it was, her heart rose in her chest. Fumbling to find the message she turned the paper over in her hands, and there it sat, printed in Draco's hand.

"Let's go."

Smiling from ear to ear, Hermione rose quickly from her seat and skipped outside. Draco followed her, happy that he at least had something to make him smile tonight. He caught up with her outside the front door, the temperature dropping immensely as the wind blew into their faces. Hermione grabbed his hand, and they ventured into the gloomy woods to their secret garden, where they would always and forever be safe. The trees seemed to whisper to them, speaking a language neither of them could understand – only enjoy the sound of as they rested against a tree. Crickets chirped loudly in the grass surrounding them, mixing with the whipping of the wind and tinkling of the water's edge to create the most beautiful melody.

Silence bounced between them for the longest time, each of them enjoying the stillness of each other's company, glad that the thought of their closeness was enough to chase away the fear that was curled up in their hearts. But soon, the comfortable quiet transformed into something more eerie, and Hermione felt the need for the sound of Draco's voice.

"Draco…"

"Yes?"

"Nothing…" she whispered, staring up at the trees above them. "I just like to hear you speak. It calms my nerves."

"Well then I will talk forever…" he smiled, rubbing his nose against hers.

Their lips met for moment, and it was just about to shift into snogging when Hermione turned away, leaving Draco with his mouth slightly open. He looked concerned, his eyes burning again, just like they always did when there was something wrong, but as usual, he left Hermione to her own emotions, only listening when asked.

"Why did we do this, Draco?" she whispered, her voice wavering.

"I often ask myself that same question…" he sighed, but then added. "But then I remember my pitiful excuse of a life before I got to know you, and I realize that we need each other. That is why I did this." He could feel Hermione breathe beside him, nothing escaping her lips but air, and this worried him. "Why did you?"

"At first it was because I wanted to give you a chance…" Hermione replied quietly. "But now it's because I know that you would never hurt me or want me for anyone other than who I am. You would never expect me to change for you or be less than equal to you, and most of all, if ever we were parted, you would walk around the world for me and refuse to stop until you saw my face again."

"And then when I did, you would wash my bleeding feet with a rag and kiss them until your lips were numb," Draco laughed, joking.

"Very funny, Malfoy…" she said, expression still serene.

Draco looked at his hands in his lap as something moved in the distance. His head snapped up, followed swiftly by his wand, but after a few minutes of silence, he put both back down. Hermione, who had tensed when he moved, relaxed slowly beside him. Still, she felt uneasy as she glanced in the depths of the trees, as if expecting a snake to slither from the shadows.

* * *

Amycus Carrow was standing by a tree, watching the Mudblood and Malfoy talk softly to one another. The mere sight sickened him. He was mentally preparing himself, to make the curse as strong as possible, and he knew he would not fail. He could see the couple perfectly through the bushes that sat between them. Draco's back was to him, and he could not see the Mudblood's face, but, of course, this was no issue.

She was not the target.

Carrow inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air that he would only need a tiny fraction of to say the word that would send their love crashing to the ground. The word would also bring him to the top of the Dark Lord's list of men, and this was the moment he had hoped for all along, the chance to destroy Lucius through his son. Then with a swish of his wand, he whispered it, the words barely audible to even himself, and invisible, the spell shot at Draco like a bullet.

"Kill her…" Carrow ordered.

* * *

The sound did not occur again, and Hermione felt Draco's arms loosen up. It was jarringly silent. Even the crickets seemed to be dead as a field of tension suddenly formed around her. Her eyes darted over the wood, searching for something but not knowing exactly what. Draco shifted beside her, crawling onto her lap, and shocked, she began to struggle.

"Shh…" he blew into her ear.

She felt herself relax although not completely as he leaned in to kiss her. She could feel his breath on her mouth, which was unusually cold, but nevertheless she melted into the kiss. Something about it felt different though, and thinking this odd, she opened her lids. Her brown irises shot to his face, and she almost screamed as she saw Draco's usual grey eyes, frosted over – white and lifeless. She immediately recognized the symptoms of the Imperius Curse, and breath catching in her throat, she shook her head, trying to make things clearer. Frantically, she placed her hands on his chest, attempting to push him away, but she found that this was more difficult than she had imagined. Hermione watched with dread as Draco's hand slithered into his pocket, pulled out his wand, and gradually brought it to her throat, the wooden end stabbing her neck.

Heart beating wildly, she gasped, "No! Don't! Draco, if you can hear me, I love you! Please don't!" Hermione felt him hesitate, the pressure of his wand against her windpipe slightly lessened. "I love you..."

Her last statement died out with a sob as she began to cry, her hands grasping at the wand of the man she loved. She pushed as hard as she could, her arms burning with the effort, but he held it steady.

Draco was feeling rather strange now, as if he was floating, his mind barely aware of what he was doing. Hermione was yelling something, and her voice was muffled in his head, trying to wriggle its way into his trance. He had been ordered to kill her by somebody, though he couldn't recall who, and he should have completed this task already. But he only wanted to listen to her sing-song voice, to hear what she was screaming at him. His ears strained to make the sound clear.

"You aren't yourself, Draco! Listen to me!" she was growling, gritting her teeth in the effort she was using to push him away from her. "Malfoy, get your filthy hands off of my neck or I swear I will kill you!"

She hadn't actually meant that last statement, but she would say anything to get Draco back, to stop him from hurting her. A voice echoed through the woods, coming from Hermione's right, and as she looked, face crushing beneath the wand, she could see Amycus Carrow crouching in the bushes, yelling for him to kill her. Her face snapped back to Draco, as an idea formed in her head.

She became silent, knowing her words were the only thing standing between her and death, but right now, the Killing Curse was exactly what she wanted. It would be extremely risky, and it was probably the worst idea she had ever had. But if she was fast, it would work perfectly.

Draco could not hear Hermione's voice anymore, and with nothing to distract him, he decided to follow his strict orders. He decided to murder Hermione Granger. With wand hard-pressed against her throat, he began to say the words he told her he had never spoken. And even as the first syllable rolled from his lips, he could feel her squirming under his grasp.

"Ava-"

Hermione wriggled and writhed, trying to find a weak point in his grasp.

"da…"

She kicked her legs, elated to find that there was room for her to move them.

"Ke-"

Then, using the tree behind her as a lever, she shoved herself between his feet, sliding out behind him.

"davra!"

A flash of green light hit the tree where she had been only moments before, and she tried not to imagine what would have happened if she hadn't escaped. But before she could ponder on it too long Draco was spun around, coming for her again, the whiteness in his eyes becoming more opaque it seemed. Quickly, she jumped to where she remembered seeing Carrow and stood still, praying she was quick enough to get out of the way when the spell of death came.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The emerald light was blinding and she felt the heat of it rushing toward her, but right before it struck, she flung herself behind a tree. Dazed, she crouched low, hoping her unprompted plan had worked. A deep scream echoed over the area followed by a rustling of leaves and a muffled thump, but Hermione didn't dare move. She sat still, hugging herself, trying to find some warmth in her shivering body, but that warmth did not come until she heard a stifled sob behind her. She crawled around the base of the trunk, eyes searching for him, and sure enough, there he was standing stone-still legs spread shoulder-width and arms hanging limply at his sides. His eyes were focused into the pitch-black woods ahead of him, ad tears were streaming down his cheeks, warm and painful against his frozen face. Hermione watched as his wand slipped from his hand, hitting the dirt without so much as a whisper.

The world seemed to move in slow motion as Hermione picked herself up, walking slowly over to Draco, who seemed unable to move. She threw her arms around his neck, standing on her tip-toes to reach him, but he did not respond, as if he had been petrified.

"I almost…"

"Draco, it wasn't your fault," Hermione said looking behind her at the body that lay in the thick foliage. It was mangled and twisted in the branches, the eyes unmoving and frozen in a terrified state. "It was his."

"I'm so sorry…" Draco said, as if he hadn't heard her speak. "I didn't – "

"There is nothing to apologize for," she whispered. "Everything is alright now."

For the first time, he looked at her, his eyes like endless pits, "No it isn't, Hermione." He looked out at the lake, which didn't seem as peaceful tonight. "It will only get worse now. This was just the first of many things to come."

The two of them looked up, startled, as they heard footsteps coming nearer. Wands at the ready, they turned their bodies, prepared for another attack, but none came. It was Professor McGonagall, walking briskly towards them, her arms stiff and nervous at her hips. Draco and Hermione exchanged glances, afraid of what would happen now; surely McGonagall would not overlook a dead body.

She gasped, "What has happened here?" Then she looked at the two of them standing guiltily in the clearing, and automatically, her eyes glanced at the flaccid body hidden in the bushes. "What in the name of Merlin has happened? I saw spells flying outside the window and thought I might have a look, but I wasn't expecting this."

Hermione glanced up at the window McGonagall had pointed to, the High Table visible dead ahead. The Headmistress stepped forward to examine Carrow's corpse, clutching his wrist to make sure that his heart had really stopped. Her eyes widened as she spun around to face them once more.

"Whose wand is responsible?" she asked, voice shaking with anger and shock.

"Mine," Draco said, lowering his head.

Hermione looked up at him with worry and added, "Professor Carrow placed him under the Imperius Curse. It wasn't his fault at all."

McGonagall nodded, "I see… Obviously the cause of this attack is something personal between the two of you, and I will not ask what that cause is. But I know that some of the students saw me leave, and they will not hesitate to inquire… You will simply tell them that it is not any of their business, and if they have any questions to come see me. Do you understand? The last thing we need is for the students to know you were both almost killed."

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione whispered as Draco nodded in agreement.

"Please run along inside, now," the Headmistress instructed. "You know how I feel about public displays of affection."

They slowly walked inside, McGonagall's attempt at humor hardly funny. She stayed outside, staring at the Death Eater's body as Draco held open the door. The laughter in the Great Hall seemed distant, even as they stepped under the threshold, and as they entered, the several faces glanced up, twisted with mockery.

Draco, who normally left Hermione to sit with the Slytherin's, did not do so now. It didn't matter anymore if people knew, and he followed unashamed behind her, his shoes tapping right under her cloak. With each table they passed, the eyes became like saucers, the mouths like black holes, and the necks like those of owls, swiveling to follow them. It was quiet as they sat down at the Gryffindor table, Draco looked up at her through his eyelashes, his mouth upturned slightly, and Hermione pursed her lips in return. Everyone knew about them now, not just the Death Eaters – everyone, and Hermione realized that Draco's words could not have been more true. Their lifes were destined to become more painful, more difficult, and much, much worse.


	7. Chapter Seven: Letters

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER SEVEN SUMMARY: Narcissa is forced to assist the Dark Lord, while Draco and Hermione suffer at school.**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Letters**

**"_A woman's best love letter is always written to the man she is betraying."_**

_**- Lawrence Durrell**_

His snake eyes lingered on the empty seat, studying it, as if wishing the occupant into existence, but of course, he never came. The fact that Amycus Carrow was not present troubled the Dark Lord greatly for if he did not return, how would they receive news of Draco Malfoy? He had waited patiently, giving the man another chance. Perhaps he had simply been running late, but as the meeting came to a close, the chair was still sitting there, empty as the unblinking eyes that continued to study it.

As the gathering was dismissed and people began to rise from the table, Voldemort remained stationary, his hands clasp in front of him, the fingers moving slowly. His eyes were focused on them, watching them bob gradually up and down. Occasionally, one of his bony fingers would reach up to his shoulder to stroke the massive snake that hung over the crest of his chair, and although he did this gracefully, his expression was not serene. In fact, several of the Death Eaters that passed him noted the roughness etched into his ivory face, but they did not stop to ponder what might be angering him for fear of risking their personal safety. Some of them Apparated and others exited through the fireplace, leaving the room clear except for Lucius Malfoy and his wife. Lucius had his hand on the handle of the door to the foyer, hoping that Voldemort was simply taking his time. But he always had a purpose… Lucius should have known better.

"Lucius," Voldemort said still watching his hands, "Amycus was not present this evening."

Lucius jumped slightly at the hissing voice and turned around quickly, "No, my Lord. Is he not out doing your bidding?"

"No…" he smiled. "He is dead." The Dark Lord saw Narcissa's neck tense, her jaw clamped tight, as her eyes shot to him then to Lucius and back again. Lucius seemed confused, but of course, he did not know what had happened. "He was murdered, ironically, by who he was sent to destroy."

Lucius's face dropped, the wrinkles on his forehead only deepened by his frown and his creased brow, "Draco?" He let his hand fall from the handle as he rushed to the Dark Lord's side, hands clutching eagerly at the edge of the table. His grey eyes were hopeful at the thought of Draco finally becoming the man he was supposed to be. "My son, Draco?"

"Yes, Lucius," Voldemort said, looking agitatedly at the ceiling. "But there is naught to celebrate. Your son has murdered one of my men, and all for the sake of a Muggle-born infant. If anything, I find it to be quite a disappointment."

"Yes, my Lord. And what has become of that filthy girl?" Lucius asked him.

Voldemort's expression did not change, "There is no way to know now that Amycus is dead… unless you want to assist me, Lucius."

"I do, my Lord. Anything you ask."

The red eyes flickered to Narcissa for a split second, observing her as she stood meekly by the bookcase against the wall. Her eyes were pleading, trying to accept what her son had done. Could it be that he, in compliance with his father's wishes, had become a murderer? Voldemort could feel her internal struggle, his mind connecting with hers for the briefest of moments, and he cocked his head, thinking.

"On the other hand, Lucius, I believe the task would be better suited for your wife."

Lucius watched fearfully as the Dark Lord rose from his chair like a wisp of smoke, his hands sweeping elegantly over the table. The giant snake that had been resting over the chair, slithered loudly as it rolled to the seat and, with a thump, onto the floor, following his footsteps. Narcissa gasped and looked worriedly at her husband, who appeared just as surprised as she.

"But, my Lord," Lucius began. "Narcissa does not – "

"Now, now Lucius," Voldemort interrupted. "Let us not underestimate the woman. Narcissa, I'm sure is just as strong and able as anyone else. Besides, the act she will be assigned is not a harmful one… if that is your concern."

"Wh-what is it then?" Narcissa shook, wanting nothing more than to escape.

Voldemort smiled, "Write your son. Ask him of his time at Hogwarts. Surely he will tell you of all people what has been happening… Then we will know the status of Carrow's mission."

Narcissa knew that the Dark Lord had yet again lied by telling the truth. She knew writing the letter would not be harmful to her son and the girl he loved, but the letter he sent back to them would put the two in serious danger. "I'm not sure I can agree to that."

"Narcissa…" Lucius whispered.

"I will not risk our son's life for the pleasure of punishment!"

Voldemort could feel his temper rising, watching yet another Malfoy refuse his orders. It was becoming somewhat of an annoyance even being in their presence, and suddenly, he moved – so quickly neither Lucius nor Narcissa saw. He appeared again beside Lucius, pinning him to the wall and holding his wand against Lucius's forehead. "Perhaps this will change your mind."

Narcissa wailed suddenly, as she watched the Dark Lord dig his wand into Lucius's temple, twisting the stick threateningly. Quickly she jerked a book from the bookshelf beside her and tore an empty page out, and pupils still locked on her husband, she rushed to the desk in the opposite corner of the room and shoved a quill and ink pot into her hand. "What sh-shall it say?"

* * *

Hermione awoke that night shaking, beads of sweat clinging to her frightened face and her breathing heavy and tired. She sat up against her pillow, the dream that had jolted her awake still lingering in her head. The death of Amycus Carrow haunted her – not particularly because of the death itself but the events leading up to it. The quiet of Draco's company and then the sudden roughness of his wand in her neck, twisting painfully beneath his fingers, the stutter of her heart when she barely missed the Killing Curse and turned it on it's creator. It was terrifying still… Of course, she knew Draco had not been of the right mind then, but as the emotions and images flashed inside of her, she couldn't help but hear Ginny and Ron's warnings swirling in her brain.

She looked around the room, the other girls sound asleep, their sheets rising and falling with each steady breath. Envious of their peaceful slumbers and upset by her dream, she slipped from under the sheets, the cold air of the room hitting her legs immediately, making her shudder. Freezing, as she was wearing only a short, thin night gown, she pulled the light comforter from her bed and wrapped it about her shoulders, snuggling into it. Then she listened to her quiet footsteps as she ducked silently onto the balcony overlooking the Common Room. She stepped carefully down the spiral staircase and tiptoed to the door, which clicked open at her touch. Eyes darting left and right down the corridor, she shuffled out of the room, bounded quickly down the floating staircases and came to the Entrance Hall.

She wasn't sure why she had come here, and suddenly, she felt foolish. She couldn't simply walk into another House Common Room at this late hour. She might get caught by a teacher, or worse yet, by a Slytherin, and the mere idea caused her pull the blanket tighter around herself. Still, she needed him right now, needed to hear his voice to help her settle back into sleep, and with this in mind, she pulled open gently the door to the dungeons.

Having memorized the way to the Slytherin Common Room, she took the necessary turns and came to a tall, bare wall. She knew this was it, that Draco was somewhere on the other side, but she had never bothered to ask him the password. So she sat down against the cold, hard wall, tears beginning to burn behind her closed lids. She must have sat there for at least fifteen minutes when she heard movement farther down the corridor. Startled, she pushed herself into the dark corner, praying they wouldn't see her buried in the Gryffindor comforter, and she shut her eyes. That is until the footsteps stopped…

"Hermione?"

Her lids flew open. It was Draco, towering over her with eyes full of concern. He knelt down beside her, elbow resting on his knees. And elated to see him, she flung her arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around her waist, still surprised at her enthusiastic reaction.

"What are you doing down here?" he whispered in her ear, savoring the pressure of her head on his shoulder, the tickle of her hair on his neck.

"Bad dream…" she whispered into his tee shirt, her breath hot through the thin fabric.

He found his hands running up to her hair, fingers twisting through the loose curls, and tenderly, he turned to kiss her forehead. His lips lay there for a long time, as if the longer he held them there, the easier the dream would be to forget. And indeed, as Hermione felt his mouth graze her hairline, memory of her unwanted illusion faded. She tilted her head up, her lips colliding with his, and they melted into a long, kiss.

"Better?" he smiled quietly.

She simply nodded, not wanting to speak and ruin the perfect moment, the moment she had been hoping for since leaving her dormitory. She felt so at home in his arms, wrapped comfortably in a blanket and leaning into his chest. It was enough to want to stay there forever, to neglect going back to the imperfect world, the world where, as of recently, nothing made sense. It was strange to think that a few of months ago, she would have been thinking backwards to this.

"Why weren't you asleep?" she mumbled drowsily.

"Same reason you weren't…" he said, glancing down at her. She sat up, looking confused, and he blushed, "What? You don't think Death Eaters have bad dreams, too?"

Hermione knew he meant it as a joke, but she didn't want to laugh. She hated when he called himself that, as if he was still one of them, as if he was no different from before. She looked into his metallic eyes, feeling herself slipping deeper and deeper into their powerful grasp, but just as she was sure she was going hit his soul, he looked away.

"And also because the password changed this morning, due to the beginning of the month," he chuckled lightly. "They didn't bother to tell me what it changed to."

Hermione's heart twinged, "McGonagall would know what it is…"

"But she probably isn't awake at two in the morning…"

"Right…" Hermione blushed. "Well we could always just… stay awake I suppose, considering that tomorrow is a Saturday, and Merlin knows we have nothing else to do…"

Draco sighed, "I'm not looking forward to tomorrow…"

"Neither am I, but at least we have one another…"

"Yeah," he laughed. "That's about the only thing we have now."

* * *

She awoke laying in his lap, the glare of the sun shimmering through the stained glass windows above them, casting colorful patterns on the marble of the steps that lay beneath them. She didn't recall moving to this spot, but then again, she had been half-asleep when she came downstairs. Draco was awake; his fingers were playing with hers softly, stroking them. Hermione tried not to respond, keeping her hand limp for fear of him realizing her consciousness and discontinuing his idle yet meaningful gesture. But he was too observant for her to be remain unnoticed.

"Morning…" he said, his voice echoing over the empty hall.

She sat up, his eyes following her as she stretched her arms lazily, reaching towards the high ceiling. Then seeing his face she couldn't help but lean over and peck him on the cheek.

"Good morning," she replied with a tired smile. "What time is it?"

"Couldn't say. They already had breakfast…" Draco said looking to his left at the doors to the Great Hall.

"And how many nasty looks did we receive?" she asked, heart sinking.

Draco didn't say anything, only shrugged, as he rose from the steps and helped Hermione to her feet. His eyes looked fatigued, and Hermione suddenly felt terrible as she figured he had probably not slept a wink. His hair was disheveled, having not been able to prepare himself because of his ignorance of the Slytherin password.

"That many?"

Draco's eyes wandered to hers, serious, blank, "Honestly, Hermione, does any of that really matter to you? Do you truly want to be stuck with people like the Weasley's all your life?"

She pulled away from him, offended, "Yes, it does matter because I happen to enjoy the Weasley's. Having only one friend isn't something to brag about, especially when everyone hates you because of him."

"What is that supposed to mean, Granger?" he said, beginning to sound like Malfoy instead of Draco, spitting the words. "Am I suddenly not good enough for you?"

She couldn't listen to him, couldn't watch his face change from soft to snide again. She could never allow him to have that chance for she was determined to change him forever, resolute to have him remain this kind, generous Draco she had brought about. An argument would only cause to her break this promise to herself.

"No…" she sighed. "I didn't mean that. I don't want to fight with you about this. I love the Weasley family because I have grown up with them, Draco. I know you don't understand, and that's okay. But you have to at least try to. I love Ron and Harry and Ginny like siblings, and I love you as something more."

He did not respond for a moment, leaning against the stair rail with his head tilted back and his eyes closed, "I'm sorry. I'm just feeling… apprehensive."

"Well don't…" Hermione said softly, rubbing his chest. "Come on. It's Saturday. Let's do something different…"

"Something… different?" he repeated slowly. "Like what exactly?"

"Well before we do anything at all, I think that we should probably go talk to McGonagall about your password so you can clean up," she said, giving him a once-over. "You look dreadful."

"Thank… you?" Draco laughed as Hermione grabbed his hand and led him swiftly up the steps.

They arrived at McGonagall's office within a few minutes. She was sitting inside, brooding over a piece of literature, her glasses resting on the very end of her nose. They stood at the door for a moment, unsure of whether they should disturb her now or not, but after a few seconds, she must have sensed them standing there for she glanced up and closed her thick book with a dusty thud.

Hands folded curiously before her she said, "Can I help the two of you?"

Hermione looked at Draco, who didn't look like he was going to speak, his eyes dead and his mouth shut tightly. Therefore, she took the initiative.

"Yes, actually. See, the password for the Slytherin Common Room changed and – "

"Periculum," McGonagall said quickly. "Did your housemates not mention that to you last night, Mr. Malfoy?"

The question shocked him for a moment, having not spoken to McGonagall in a polite way before, "No, ma'am. They seem to have forgotten...."

The Headmistress stared at them, narrowed eyes darting between the unlikeliest of companions, and she continued this for so long that it was causing them both to become slightly unsettled.

"Would both of you mind sitting down?" she gestured at the desks that sat before her. Draco and Hermione obediently sat, worried. "I realize that perhaps you are not in the most ideal of circumstances at the moment. I am, of course, aware that Amycus Carrow was sent to murder one or both of you, and because of that, I doubt that you murdered him of your own will," she gestured at Draco. "However, as a member of the Order and as Headmistress of a school that may be in danger, I would like to know what the reason was for this attack." She paused and neither of them answered, sharing an embarrassed gaze, so she continued. "Obviously you have taken well my advice from earlier this year to become friends. But as I have deduced, you are much more than that."

"Yes," Hermione said, reaching for Draco's hand, which he took instantly.

"And I assume you know of the dangers associated with something like this, as the attack was a direct result of it?" McGonagall interrogated.

"Of course," Hermione answered once more.

"I see… and I suppose it also has it's social disadvantages," the professor continued. "I haven't seen either of you with any of your peers recently."

"Actually, Professor," Draco began slowly, "that is, I believe, how they wish for it to be. Everyone's been avoiding me, which is possibly the reason why I didn't receive news of the password change…"

"And you, Hermione? How have you been treated?" McGonagall turned to her, truly concerned.

"Unfortunately the same."

The professor nodded, taking this information in, and as she did the room was still, the Headmistress seeming to be considering something with all seriousness. Her head turned to look out of the window, where Ravenclaw was practicing Quidditch on the pitch, but her mind was obviously not focused on sports.

"I think I may be able to accommodate both of you in private suites. Hogwarts has many for the teachers of course, but there are a few vacant ones I would assume. If you feel uncomfortable in your Houses or unsafe at all, I would not hesitate to place you in your own bedrooms – separate of course, with hexes on the doors, only girls or only boys allowed. The same rules would apply as with the Common Rooms and curfew, but I am sure you both would feel much more at home."

Hermione considered having her own bedroom - the freedom, the aloneness, the quiet - and the thought, she had to admit, did sound rather appealing. She smiled to herself at McGonagall's stressing that they would not be sharing a room, and as she said this, Hermione felt Draco squeeze her hand a bit tighter.

"That would be lovely if you wouldn't mind…" Hermione smiled, trying not sound to eager. "Thank you, Professor."

"It is no trouble, dear," she smiled. "Follow me."

And she rose from her seat, tall and wiry, her usual witch's hat atop her head as she led them down corridor after corridor, step after step. They came to a stop at a large wooden door with no handle, and as they approached it, McGonagall uttered the password.

"_Prodoceo,"_ she said, then tuning to the students. "You would do well to remember that."

The doors creaked open revealing a dim hallway, lit by numerous torches gracing the walls. The light was wavering, dimming and brightening randomly with the decision of the flames. The corridor had several doors running along the sides – at least two dozen – one of them was open, classical music rolling peacefully from inside. As they passed it, Hermione glanced in to find Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, sitting in a plush armchair, magically embroidering a get-well-soon pillow. The other doors were closed, but she knew the other teachers were behind them, doing whatever it is teachers do in their spare time.

The wandered father down the hall, Hermione's eyes prying in every nook, barely aware when McGonagall knocked lightly on a door to her left. When no answer came, she nodded quickly and opened the door, which squeaked loudly as it revealed the empty bedroom. The walls were a light brown sandstone, the rock on the floor covered by a deep, navy and white rug. There was a fireplace tucked onto the east wall, no fire flickering in its blackened pit. One either side of the fireplace was a nook. One of them contained a window, laced with a long, navy curtain and the other housed a small daybed fabricated with the same general pattern as the rug. Hermione's eyes sifted through these various details of the room until she came to the bed itself. It was extravagant, the mattress rising high off the ground, covered with a thick, blue comforter, dotted with ivory dots that seemed to be more abundant on one side, fading slowly to blue on the other. The backboard was a rectangular canvas, on which was painted a marvelous star, it's rays spreading until they were no longer visible behind the dark blue canopy that hung over the entire structure.

"One of you can occupy this one…" McGonagall said, smiling at Hermione's awed expression.

Hermione looked at Draco hopefully as McGonagall turned to another door, her hands pleading before her. She absolutely loved it; it was beautiful.

"It's yours…" Draco smirked, kissing her on the forehead.

They caught up with the Headmistress, who already had her head poked into another door, but she hummed disdainfully and shut it as she shuffled to the next room. They saw her smile as she opened the door wider to let Draco see. The room was darker than Hermione's, slathered in red, gold, and black, but the walls were of the same sandstone. It did not have as much furniture as Hermione's room either – only a simple burgundy armchair, a dark, wooden end table, and of course, the bed. The sheets were burgundy, which looked rather sophisticated against the gold-colored wall, and the duvet cover that was folded at the foot was ebony, as was the bedskirt which fell below the bed.

"And is this one suitable for you, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall looked at him.

He stepped inside, looking around, "Yes, I think it will be alright."

His facial expression was severe as he said this, however, and Hermione was not sure why. She was positive it had nothing to do with the room, however, as she locked eyes with him. Something was troubling him, but she didn't want to bother him by asking what it was. So she did what he would do – kept her mouth shut until he mentioned it.

"Well then, you can gather your things and move in whenever you wish…"

Then she ducked into a room – presumably her own – and shut the door quietly behind her.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked her. "I know how much it annoys you."

"No, it's fine…" Hermione replied. "We have to eat sometime, don't we?"

Draco shrugged. This was the part of the day that Hermione hated – meals. It meant being surround by the other students, meant being stared at while she ate. Still, Draco was grasping her hand, pulling her through under the threshold and into the Great Hall, which was bustling with people. As they walked, in they did indeed receive shocked glances from others, as if the sight was still something their eyes were not accustomed to. Hermione saw one boy nudge his neighbor, pointing at them and whispering, and another girl was staring them so disgustedly that she looked like she was about to vomit. Draco did not seem to notice the eyes buzzing about them, and in fact he stared back at them, which often made them turn to their food once more.

"Where do you want to sit?" he asked Hermione suddenly after he had frightened away the eyes of a fourth year.

"It doesn't matter…" Hermione mumbled, eyes on her feet.

"Your choice," Draco said, scanning over the room.

Hermione looked up and down all the tables, trying to find someone to sit with when her eyes met with Ron's. He was sitting with Ginny and Neville, his fork hanging flaccidly in his hand, and as he saw Hermione, he looked away, eyes welling up with tears he was determined not to let spill. Ginny seemed to be talking to him, and when she noticed that his eyes were not focused on her, she followed them to find Hermione standing with Malfoy. Hermione looked rather lost, her hand intertwined with Draco's and her eyes darting around the room. And suddenly, Ginny's heart plummeted as she realized they were looking for a place to sit, and silently she prayed they would not come to Gryffindor. On the other side of the room, Pansy Parkinson was glaring at Draco, her brown eyes penetrating the side of his face. She was watching that muddy Hermione Granger standing next _her_ Draco, and the envy burned inside of her like an untamed fire. How she wanted to tell him off! After everything they had been through together, she was hurt that he would leave her standing in the cold, freezing rain for someone as lowly as Granger. If he valued his life he had better not come to steal a seat at Slytherin.

Feeling awkward standing in the middle of the room, Hermione hurried to the Ravenclaw table where she had spotted Luna, read the Quibbler. Surely of all people Luna Lovegood would not despise Hermione for her decision. As they walked quickly and shyly between the tables, bodies turned to watch, either hoping they wouldn't sit near them or hoping they would so they could torment the couple. When Draco realized who Hermione had targeted he pulled on her arm forcefully.

"Loony Lovegood??" he whispered fiercely. "Are you mad? She's… insane."

Hermione whacked him on the chest, "Don't say that. She's really quite sweet once you become familiar with her."

Draco raised his eyebrows, "Oh really? And how long will that take?"

"I'm still not used to her," Hermione joked. "Now come on before you draw more attention."

Draco laughed heartily, "I honestly don't think that's possible."

Hermione rolled her eyes as she took a seat beside Luna. There were not many people sitting in this area, and Hermione couldn't be sure if it was because Luna had chosen the spot due to it's solitude or if the solitude was caused by her sitting there. Either way, there was enough room for Draco and Hermione to join her at the table.

She glanced up as they took a seat, her long blonde hair falling from behind her ears. Her tiny fingers reached up mechanically to push the locks back as she grinned at them, her eyes dreamy as usual.

"Hello, Hermione," she said in her high-pitched voice as her eyes wandered curiously to Draco's face. "And you are Draco Malfoy, but I don't believe that we have met before. I'm Luna Lovegood."

He nodded and replied uncomfortably, "Nice to meet you."

"Oh, likewise," Luna said, plucking a ham sandwich from the stack before her and taking a bite.

"Listen, Luna…" Hermione began. "You don't mind if we sit here do you? I know it's kind of… um… different, but I was sure you wouldn't be bothered."

Luna cocked her head, "Whatever do you mean?"

Draco pursed his lips at Hermione, amused at the girl's lack of observance. Hermione stepped on his shoe under the table, trying to get him to stop.

"Well…" Hermione said slowly, glancing up at Draco. "We are kind of a… couple."

Luna perked up then, her back going rigid with excitement, and a enormous smile spread across her doll-like face, "Well that is wonderful!"

Hermione giggled, "Thank you, Luna."

"Why are you not sitting with Ronald and Ginny?"

"Because they don't have an accommodating bone in their body…" Draco mumbled.

Luna stared at him blankly as Hermione stomped his foot hard. She felt him cringe beside her.

"They don't really favor us being together," Hermione explained.

The small girl shook her head, "That is a shame, isn't it? Friends should be supportive of everything, especially when it comes to love. There is no worse feeling than being rejected because of your emotions…" She paused for a minute. "Any news of Harry Potter, Hermione?"

The question caught her by surprise, "Last I heard, he was looking for Umbridge… thought she had a horcrux. But I'm sure he has found it by now…"

"What are you two talking about?" Draco interrupted. "Didn't we already destroy that… in the Room of Requirement?"

Hermione sighed, exasperated, "No. There are more, and Harry is looking for them so he can destroy them. It's the only way to defeat Voldemort… He stored his soul away in random objects so he could virtually never die, each portion of himself torn away by a murder. You have to admit, it does make him rather difficult to pin down…"

It was quiet, each of them thinking about different things. Luna was already wondering if Professor Flitwick knew about nargles was thinking she would ask him later. Hermione was concerned about Harry, and Draco was shaking internally. Voldemort had split his soul into numerous parts in order to be immortal, and none of his followers even knew. Draco had always wondered how he had returned, how he had risen to power again, and now that he knew, he wished he didn't. If anything was certain in this undomesticated world, it was that Voldemort was much more powerful, intelligent, and manipulative than he had originally thought…

Lunch ended soon, the bell ringing loud in Hermione's ear, pulling her from her worried thoughts. She rose from the table quickly, Draco following behind her, and she headed towards the door. She pushed through the flocks of people, no one seeming to notice she was there, being thrown about like a dead animal. Somewhere in the crowd she had lost Draco and she pushed out of the mass to wait for him, but just as she did she heard a voice behind her, calling her name. To her surprise, it was not Draco's but Ron's, and as she looked for him, he appeared out of the students before her, face solemn.

"Yes?" she asked, crossing her arms and staring at the ceiling.

His expression did not change, "I'm not here to apologize." Hermione dropped her arms and studied him. "I wanted to give you this. It's a letter from Harry… said he found the locket of Slytherin. I thought it would only be fair if you got to see it."

"Oh…" she said, taking the letter gently as he pulled it from his pocket. "Thank you, Ron. It means a lot."

He smiled weakly, not looking at her face, and then, sulkily, he joined Neville to go back to the Common Room. Hermione watched him go as she fingered the envelope in her hands, sent by the one person who did not know of the conflict he had left behind at Hogwarts, and missing terribly Harry Potter, she was unhappy for once when Draco's skin touched hers.

* * *

The letter was on the floor when he had entered his new room. It was lying quietly under his shoe when he stepped inside, and he assumed someone had slipped in under the foot of the door during lunch. He read the name on the envelope, written in his mother's hand, and eagerly, he tore it open.

**"Dearest Draco,**

**I hope that your days at Hoqwarts have been pleasant. I have been worried about you. The Christmas holidays are approaching, and I do hope you decide to visit home. Your father and I miss you horribly. We are planning on having an extravagant holiday party so invite all your little friends to attend, would you? I'm sure they would enjoy it.**

**All my love, **

**Narcissa Black-Malfoy"**

He had been slightly disturbed by this note, although he was unsure why; his mother had never done anything to hurt him. Perhaps it was simply the tone, so happy and joyful, something he had not been used to lately, and it was only his brain getting reacquainted with cheerfulness. He was sure his father had had no part in writing the letter; his mother had only mentioned him to be polite. Draco kept this in mind as he wrote his response.

**"Mother,**

**I am having a decent stay at school, although certain events have put a slight damper on it - the attempt on Hermione's life being one of them. If you would, please relay to your husband that he would be well-advised to mind his own. Both of us would appreciate it thoroughly.**

**Sincerely,**

**Draco Malfoy"**

That night, he went to the owlery and tied it to the ankle of an owl with an angry tautening of the string The bird had cooed and flapped into the darkness above, and Draco watched it fly away, becoming smaller and smaller until it popped out of existence. Then shivering, he headed up to his bedroom, where, a few doors down the hall, Hermione's door was open. As he passed, he looked inside, remembering the warning that McGonagall had given them – boys only or girls only. So instead of entering, he called for her, leaning against the frame of the door and craning his neck to see around the corner, being careful not to set foot over the threshold.

She came around the wall, her hand running through her hair, and looked up at him. She was wearing her short nightgown again, and Draco tried to keep his eyes on hers, as she twisted her hair into a loose ponytail. Her feet tapped on the stone as she walked across it to him, stopping at his lips, and pulling them into hers.

"Where have you been?" she asked, her voice slow and tired.

"Delivering a letter…"

"To who?"

"My mum," he replied.

She tensed in his arms, her voice becoming suddenly alert, "What did she say?"

"Nothing," he soothed her. "Nothing at all."

"Nothing about us?"

"No…"

She smiled contentedly, "Good…. I love you."

Her hand was rested on his shoulder and he turned his head to kiss her thumb, "I love you too. You need to rest."

At this, she pulled away from him unwillingly and when he stepped back, she slowly closed the door, keeping her eyes on him until it clicked shut. He stood outside her room for a long time, thinking, his thoughts nothing good, and when he heard the chiming of a clock echoing from one of the rooms, he knew it was time for him to sleep. But as he closed the door of his suite and climbed into the tall, unfamiliar bed, he knew sleep would not come.

* * *

Narcissa stood on the balcony, her delicate hands lacing the stone banister. Her hair was down, which was unusual for her, the long blonde locks blowing from her face. She was still donning her floor-length nightgown, the hem of the white garment trailing the rocky surface beneath her. The sky had just faded from pink to blue not half an hour before, the sun only just completely visible. Draco would have received his letter by now, the letter that had been written in her hand but in the words of the Dark Lord, and perhaps he had even responded. Narcissa only prayed he had chosen his words with care for they decided his fate.

Lucius watched her as he readied for the day, studied her troubled profile as she turned to watch a pair of birds fly from a tree, and he knew she was regretting it. She had only consented because Voldemort had pulled a wand to his head; otherwise, she would have been stubborn as always.

Quietly, he opened the French glass doors to the balcony, coming up behind her and placing his hands over hers. He was silent as he looked out over the horizon, trying to find the beauty in the morning sky, which Narcissa had always loved so dearly. He could not find it and gave up searching as Narcissa broke the stillness with her quiet voice.

"Do you remember when we were so in love, Lucius, when we were nothing but children and all that existed in the world was love?"

"Mmm…" he hummed, happy to recall. "Yes. I thought that there never was a woman so beautiful as you…"

"And you told me that every day," she laughed. It was still for a few moments, the atmosphere becoming more serious as a gust of cold wind burst from the sky. "Do you remember when Draco was born, Lucius, how you vowed to protect him with your life?"

His hands slipped from hers, falling to his sides, as he turned his back to her, "Narcissa…"

"Do you remember?" she repeated herself.

His head turned to the side, watching her in his peripheral vision, and he replied, "Yes."

"When did that vow suddenly evaporate?" she asked turning her back to the banister.

He turned to her again, his eyes somber, "When I chose this life for myself. He needs this, Narcissa. He has yet to understand his purpose. It is only an awakening."

"Murder is not an awakening, Lucius," she said sternly. "Murder is the cruelest of deeds, and murdering his love would only turn him away. He will never come home, Lucius, and I will not allow you to turn our son against us."

"The letter has been sent."

"Lucius, what if he truly loves her?" she asked seriously. "What if he feels the way you did when we were young? You will let something as ridiculous as revenge slay those emotions?"

"She is a Mudblood, Narcissa!" Lucius bellowed. "You yourself disowned your family over blood! What is different?"

"The difference is that he is my son, and if you do this, Lucius, he will never step foot into my house again. If he loves her, why can't you let him?"

She ducked past him, into the house and out of the bedroom, and went downstairs to prepare herself breakfast. She didn't understand Lucius sometimes. He could be so charming, so strong, so handsome at one moment, and then otherwise, he was cruel and uncaring. And towards his own child! Narcissa knew she would sacrifice anything for her son, even her life, and she would never do any of the things Lucius was doing if she had a choice.

Of course, he had not always been that way, hard and lifeless. Lucius Malfoy had been lovely once, when they were seventeen and nothing else mattered. In fact, Narcissa had not noticed a difference in him until he had become a Death Eater, until he had come home with that hideous mark on his arm. She still remembered that night as clear as if it was happening now, right before her eyes.

She could envision him, coming through the front door, his face tired and sunken as it had been growing to be for the four years they had been married. She had met him in the foyer, throwing her arms around him, but she did not feel the gesture returned. He was too busy pulling on his left sleeve, jerking it nervously with his right hand. She had grabbed that hand, ceasing the fidgeting, and held it tightly in all of her tiny fingers. Her eyes had locked with his and she had asked him what was the matter, but he had shaken his head wearily and mumbled something about having a long day. He had tried to walk around her, but she stepped in front of him, arms folded impatiently across her chest. She watched his hand flash up to his sleeve again, scratching this time.

"_What is wrong with you arm? Are you hurt?_" she had asked him.

He only shook his head and laughed, "_Nothing, Cissy. Don't worry about me_."

"_Let me see it."_

"_No, really, Narcissa, it's alright_."

She sighed, grabbing his arm, "_Don't be ridiculous_!" she had exclaimed, ripping up his sleeve.

That is when she saw it for the first time, red and swollen, ugly and black. She had dropped his forearm, out of shock or out of fear, to this day she was not sure. She could never forget his face, the embarrassment and shame etched into every pore, and tears began to form in the corners of her eyes as she stared at the thing, the monster, that tainted her husbands clean wrist.

"_Who did this to you_?" she asked, her hand moving to her mouth.

His eyes were unchanging as he said, "_He did. It's a good thing, Cissy. It means I'm doing things right. Listen, I'm going to bed…"_ Then he bent down and kissed her. "_I love you_…"

* * *

The knock came on the door at a quarter past midnight, and Voldemort turned his head towards it, anticipating the news on the other side. At first, he was expecting Lucius, as this is who summoned him, but the door burst open and on the other side stood a short, rodent-like man.

Voldemort sighed, "Wormtail."

"My lord, Lucius Malfoy sends me."

"Yes, yes, I know this. Now stop speaking and give me the letter." the Dark Lord demanded.

"Oh…" Wormtail fumbled for the note, and after a few minutes of searching through the various pockets in his overcoat, he pulled the parchment from one and presented it to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort snatched it from him, the paper slicing the stout man's finger, blood pouring from it. He whimpered, stuffing his finger into his mouth, as the Dark Lord read the letter Draco had sent. He face was made of stone, still and constant, but his eyes burned a deep scarlet, fire visible behind them. The word 'us' stood out of the page like a sore thumb, speaking to him, telling him the girl was still alive, that Carrow had failed.

"'Why must everyone disappoint me recently, Wormtail?" he began. "Have I not provided for my people? I seem to think my followers are the victims of an unobtainable struggle for power. Are they not aware that they serve me and not themselves?" He placed a skeleton-like hand on his forehead and sighed. "Someone must be punished for Carrow's failure…"

Wormtail twitched, "B – but my lord, there is no one to reprimand. Amycus is d – dead."

The room was quiet, the only sound the clock ticking quickly above the fireplace. The Dark Lord's eyes were sinking in to the table before him as he thought of who to penalize. And as he thought about it, the answer became very clear, only logical.

"Then I shall slay the messenger."


	8. Chapter Eight: Meetings

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER EIGHT SUMMARY: Ron has a change of heart, but is it strong enough to bring he and Draco together? And what happens when the unexpected arises?**

**WARNINGS: Rated T !!!(15+)!!! for strong violence, mild language, and a scene of a mild sexual nature. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

* * *

**Chapter Eight :** **Meetings**

"The joy of meeting, not unmixed with pain."

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It was the last day of school before Christmas break, before the students would be free for a few weeks. Some of them would ride the Hogwarts Express back to King's Cross, where their parents would be waiting for him, smiles hanging on their faces and Christmas presents in their hands, but some students would stay at school during the holiday, either not having a home to visit or not wanting to go back. Of course, they would still have an enjoyable time, with trips to Hogsmeade and relaxation under the festive decorations that had been hung on the ceilings. And on Christmas day, they would find gifts from friends and family waiting for them at the foot of their bed in the morning.

Professor McGonagall had formed a list of students that would be staying at Hogwarts, and Hermione and Draco were among them. Draco, of course hadn't been planning on ever returning home, but Hermione had only recently changed her mind. For one thing, she didn't really want to ruin her own Christmas by spending it with Ginny and Ron, but her central motive was to make sure Draco remained on remission. She feared that she was the only thing standing between him and his old persona, and she loved him too much to allow him to revert back to his previous ways.

They were walking side by side now, hand in hand, with one another but still alone. Around them, it was wintry grey, the wind bitter against their uncovered faces. Draco glanced over at Hermione; her cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her eyes were sparkling with contentment. He smiled to himself, wondering how he could be so lucky, as white flecks of snow began to sprinkle from the sky.

The classes were over for the day, and tomorrow, students would board the train back home. Hermione speculated that this was the first Christmas she would not be celebrating with the Weasley's. She regretted that Ron felt the way he did; she hadn't meant to hurt him. But it was bound to be difficult, seeing her with Draco Malfoy, for, after all, he wasn't exactly a boy Hermione would typically fancy. Maybe that was why they had fallen so hard for each other – neither of them had been prepared to battle against it.

"Are you cold?" Draco asked her suddenly, breaking her concentration.

She creased her brows, feeling the air rush over her skin, even through the thick jacket she wore, and she nodded. Upon her response, he pulled her into his body, close, and wrapped his large coat around her. She breathed in deeply, his smell emanating from the garment, and she huddled into it, glad for the softness of the fabric on her skin and the touch of his freezing hands slithering over hers. Her head fell limply to his chest as they turned to walk back to the school, and she glanced up at him, only hazarding a second's gaze, his face upturned towards the twisting spirals of snow. The crystals landed on his face and immediately melted, turning into water and dripping down his cheeks and neck, and they collected like tiny white doves in his hair. Hermione knew she probably looked ridiculous with tons of snow sticking in her own thick hair, but she didn't care and neither did he so she thought nothing more of it.

They entered the Entrance Hall presently, the warmth of the castle hitting them suddenly, shocking their systems. and they stood shivering as the doors clicked shut behind them. There were many people around, talking and spending time with friends before separating from them for two weeks. Most of them still stared at the couple – though perhaps not as obviously as the first few weeks. Both of their faces were wet, and their clothes were dripping with melted snow.

"I think I'll go change," Hermione said looking down at her sopping robes.

Draco laughed, "That's probably a good idea… I think I will do the same, actually."

They walked up the steps, water trailing behind them as they turned down the corridor and stepped onto a staircase. Hermione curled a piece of soggy hair behind her ear, only to watch it fall in her face again as she looked down the hall. Her chest tightened as she saw Ron coming towards her, eyes penetrating her, but for the first time in a long time, those blue eyes were not holding a grudge. In fact, they looked rather pitiful, and Hermione's heart shot to her stomach as she found her feet slowing and coming to a stop in front of him. Draco stood behind her, narrowed grey irises studying Ron's every move. The tension was nearly tangible.

"Yes?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.

Ron blushed, eyes shooting up to Draco every other blink, "I – I just wanted to know how you were…"

Hermione felt Draco exhale violently behind her, something that did not go unnoticed by Ron as he shifted nervously from foot to foot. His head was tucked into his chest, and his words were coming forth as grumbles. But he was talking to her… It was a start.

"I'm fine, Ron," she said, feeling slightly awkward. She tapped Draco on the arm, "Could you… um…"

"Yeah…" he smiled nervously, kissing her on the temple before slinking down the hallway.

Ron turned his head to watch him go, jealousy burning inside of him still, but he turned back to Hermione as he tried to calm himself, "You have him trained, I see."

Hermione laughed, "I suppose I do, don't I?"

It was quiet, the joke echoing blandly on the walls. How did they allow this awkwardness to come between them, to intimidate them like this? They had been the best of friends, and now they couldn't think of the words to say to one another, as if saying the wrong thing would create more tension, another fight, another silence.

"I was stupid, Hermione," he admitted. "I mean, I knew I was foolish, but I let you slip through my fingers. It is no right of mine to get upset over you and Malfoy if I am the one that let you go. It's just… hard… to see you sometimes… with him, you know? But I think I can deal with that as long as we can at least be friends again. I didn't want to ruin my holidays feeling guilty…"

So he had come finally to apologize, to release the grudge he had been holding inside all these months, and Hermione could not have been happier. She flung her arms around him, grinning widely. This is what she had been hoping for, a sign that she wasn't alone, that someone from her life before still thought of her.

"But…" Ron said, pulling away. "I didn't say I approved of him. It's going to take me a while before I can say that."

Hermione sighed, "Yes, I said that too once, but honestly, Ron, he isn't as bad as you try to make him seem... Try to be nice to him at dinner tonight."

Ron's face dropped to the floor, "Excuse me?"

Hermione nodded and walked past him, his footsteps audible just behind her. She was smirking to herself, feeling his incredulous eyes on the back of her neck. Then his hand collapsed onto her shoulder, the weight of it hardly enough to describe his dread.

"Hermione, please don't."

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "You are going to have to face your fears sometime, Ron."

He shook his head at her, "Fears? What fears? This has nothing to do with me being afraid. It's about trying to restrain myself from ripping his head off while at the same table. He doesn't feel any differently, I'm sure."

"About that…" she said, turning around. "I haven't told him yet so if you could just contain yourself while I go relay the plan… that would be marvelous."

He stopped at the painting of the Fat Lady, watching her continue down the hallway, "Where are you going?"

"I have my own room…" she replied, then seeing the disgusted look on Ron's face. "Draco has his own room, too."

"Oh…" Ron laughed, his face fading from red. "I may or may not see you at dinner, then."

She rolled her eyes without a response as she continued to her bedroom, slightly reluctant having seen Ron's reaction, to tell Draco about her plans. She spoke the password to the tall mahogany door, and it swung graciously open to reveal the hallway, many attributes of which had become familiar – the comfy, musty odor, the sound of Madame Pomfrey's piano music playing soothingly from behind her closed door, the pigment pouring in from the stained glass window at the end of the corridor. Draco's door was shut, no sound penetrating the thick wood, and Hermione decided to slip into drier clothes before she knocked on it. She did this slowly, wasting as much time as possible. Although, she knew he wouldn't be enthralled, he had the potential to be more accepting of the idea than Ron, who was probably cursing his apology in his room at the moment.

When she was dried up and clean, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail as she came into the hallway. Her eyes shot automatically down the hall, still feeling rather odd being surrounded by teachers and their knowledge of her dating Malfoy. Several times she had already passed most of them, some of them smiling, some of them clicking their tongues, and others ignoring her completely. It seemed to be a debatable issue among the entire school. Hermione was only pleased that Ron was no longer against her – at least not totally.

Casually, her fist tapped on Draco's door, the sound echoing over the high ceiling. She could hear his footsteps coming nearer and found that he did not delay in opening the door. He had a towel in his hand which he was rubbing briskly over his hair. Apparently he had taken a shower, and Hermione felt slightly embarrassed, with her hair still stiff and expanded from the snow. But as with every flaw she had, he either did not mind it or did not see it, as he smirked at her.

"How did your chat with Weasley go?"

"Splendid. Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked, trying not to sound urgent. "It's nothing terrible. I just sort of planned something without your knowing, and I know you won't like it…"

He tossed the towel onto his bed and looked back at her, silver eyes questioning, "And what might this covert plan be?"

Hermione looked away from him, to the stained glass window high on the wall to her left. Then, gathering the nerve, she sighed, "Ron apologized…" Draco tilted his head back and groaned. "I know you don't think it's credible, but it honestly was. I know my best friend, Draco…"

"Hermione!' he exclaimed, hands flying into the air. "If Weasley was credible at all, I might find a way to make use of him… But he isn't, and I'm never going to. He only apologized because he wants you to feel the need to apologize, too."

She crinkled her nose, "For what?"

"Exactly!" he said, stepping out of his room now. "You don't have anything to confess. You followed the rules, and he is trying to make you believe you were the one to fail. It happens all the time, Hermione. It's something us men are talented at."

She was dumbfounded, this information turning on a new light, and a smile began to form on her face as she drew herself closer to Draco.

"I see what you're getting at, you know," she said. "You, being devious by nature, are trying to persuade me into thinking that Ron is against me." She shook his head, eyes squinted doubtfully. "Oh yes. Because you are aware just how much you can talk me into with your unbelievably convincing advice and your compelling grey eyes. You think that by charming me physically you can turn my best friend into my enemy because you, Draco Malfoy, are jealous of him."

"Jealous? Of Weasley?" he scoffed. "What could he possibly have that I want?"

"Me," she replied simply.

"But I already have you, don't I?" he whispered, moving closer to her with concerned eyes.

"Of course you do, but you see my point. I'm not going to leave you for him, Draco. I've told you time and time again. I need Ron as a brother, and I need you as something more…" she sighed, trying to make him understand. It was quiet for a few moments when something dawned on her. For a long time, she hesitated, embarrassed for wanting to know. "Why am I always the one to be mistrusted? How do I know you aren't prancing about with Pansy?"

"Pansy Parkinson?" Draco raised his eyebrows. "Honestly, Hermione? I haven't talked to a Slytherin in at least a month, let alone her."

"You two were together once, though, weren't you?"

He exhaled, "Yes, but it was only for two weeks – hardly worth the term 'together'. Worst two weeks of my life, actually."

She cocked her thin brow at him, face doubtful, as he stared her with half-honest eyes.

"Swear it on my mother's grave, Granger," he promised.

She let it go, feeling guilty and slightly unsatisfied, as she watched his eyes struggle to retain their integrity. Of course she knew that he wasn't with Pansy now. It had been an impulsive accusation, and therefore did not have any supporting evidence. Besides, even if she had looked for proof, she probably wouldn't have found it. He would never do that to her. It was only the fact that he had been with her before and the knowledge that a great deal can happen in two weeks that bothered her, but that information was none of her business. And she didn't particularly want to know anyway.

"What were you going to tell me?" he asked her, changing the subject.

"Yes, I was getting to that before you overreacted…" she thumped his arm. When he only chuckled, she continued, "Ron apologized, and I would really like to sit with he and Ginny at dinner tonight, but I also want to sit with you. Is it possible that you could sit with us? With me?"

Draco stared at her blankly, still computing what she was trying to say, but his brain was rejecting the idea.

"Yes, if you want to give your best friend a bloody nose perhaps…" he said cynically.

"Draco, please?" she begged. "He wasn't pleased with me either, but I assumed you would be more mature about it than he was."

"Truthfully, Granger, I would rather sit with Loony Lovegood…" he replied. Then he paused and smiled, "Or Pansy Parkinson…"

Hermione roared in frustration, throwing open her bedroom door, but before she went inside, she turned around, eyes smoldering with exasperation. They lay on Draco, brows in a 'v' above them, and for a moment he was frightened. She looked almost wild, with her angry eyes and lips that were pressed together so strongly they had turned white.

"If you would rather sit with them, then do!" she yelled, forgetting that she was on the teacher wing. Somewhere in the background, classical music stopped playing. "I'm sick of fighting in this childish war! I am tired of listening to both of you complain about the other. You're pitiful and infantile, trying to avoid each other, and because of what? Because of money, because of pride, because of blood? What is it that is so terrible that you can't even _try_ to be respectful for me? I don't understand, Draco! But this, I do : You will be sitting with me tonight if I have to charm you into it, and you _will_ speak to him in a gentleman-like manner. Otherwise, I won't be able to stay like this for much longer."

He did not even have time to reply, not that there were words prepared to respond to such a verbal lashing, before she turned angrily back into her room. He stood alone, as Madame Pomfrey poked her head out of her quarters, eyes wide and frightened from all of the screaming. But Draco did not acknowledge her. His mind was running over Hermione's words again, and something she had said stuck inside of him like a painful staple. Why did he hate Ron Weasley so badly? Was there even a reason? Whether there was or wasn't, one thing was for certain : he would soon find out.

* * *

The Great Hall was dreamlike, with lights twinkling on the wall and on the tall, green Christmas trees that encircled the tables. The largest tree in the room sat behind the High Table, a golden star perched on the top and a thousand tiny lights sprinkled over it. Snow drifted from the ceiling, melting quickly above their heads and fading into nothing.

"It's beautiful…" Hermione sighed, as she stared up at the ceiling.

Draco looked up beside her, finding nothing but decorative Christmas bulbs, but he nodded anyway, not wanting to make her angry again as they approached the Gryffindor table. His feet moved heavily across the ground, somehow knowing this meeting would not end up pleasant. Too many years had passed with hatred and too many disagreeable encounters had taken place between he and Weasley for them to be friends, but then, that is what he had said about Hermione.

He saw Ron look up as they came nearer, his blue eyes shooting for a moment to their knotted hands, and Draco watched as he turned his attention lazily back to his own hands on the table. Ginny was seated beside him, looking at him with a concerned expression, as if she wasn't sure he was strong enough for this, but as they sat down, she half-smiled at Hermione. Draco couldn't help but notice that she did not glance at him at all.

Ron's face lifted slightly, sapphire eyes boring into Draco, a gesture which Draco did not hesitate to return. It was still for a few moments, the pressure so strong that it was unable to be broken with words, but Hermione's mouth was open in an attempt to try. And just as a syllable of peace was just to escape her lips, someone spoke elsewhere.

"Welcome, students!" McGonagall was yelling, her voice amplified by a spell. "Merry Christmas to each of you. Before we begin the festivities, I would like to make a few announcements. First of all, we will be hiring a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor over the holidays, and they will be educating you full-time when we arrive back at school. Tomorrow morning, breakfast will be at the usual time, and the students that are taking the Hogwarts Express to King's Cross will be leaving at nine o'clock. Those of you that are spending your holidays here at the school will be taking a visit to Hogsmeade that is expected to last all day. I would ask you to please wear ample clothing for warmth and to have someone accompany you at all times as a safety precaution. Unless, anyone else has anything to say, I believe that is all. Let us eat!"

Plates appeared before them then, rising up from the table, and everyone began to move, shoveling turkey and cranberry pie onto the dishes. Silently, the four of them did the same, being careful not to touch each other's hands when reaching for the soup ladle. Hermione sat before her platter of food, eyes darting between Ron and Draco, who were ignoring each other completely, and although it was better than hexing one another, the point of eating together was to mend the bridges.

"Well since no one is brave enough to take the initiative, I will," Hermione stated, eyebrows raised. "Obviously, you both don't want to be here. You don't have to be fair to each other, if you don't wish to. I just thought since you are probably going to have to speak to each other some time, we may as well do it in a cheerful… public... setting."

Draco snorted, "Public for witnesses?"

"Funny, Malfoy," Ron made a face.

"Actually, that's what I meant…" Hermione said seriously. "They way you two talk, it makes me nervous."

"You all make me nervous…" Ginny said, laughing a bit, as she forked a strip of turkey.

"What does that mean?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes. It wasn't meant spitefully, but it came out that way.

Ginny looked up at him, "It means I fear for our sanity… especially Hermione's."

Hermione half-expected her to laugh, but her eyes were like stone. And peeved, Hermione grabbed Draco's hand under the table, which he took willingly. She tried her best to contain the comment on the end of her tongue, the one that would ruin this entire meal, and after seconds of anguish, the need passed.

Draco glanced around, watching all the other groups laugh and talk, and then he observed their tiny corner, the only silent place in the entire room, and felt embarrassed.

"It sounds like a funeral over here…" he thought aloud. The other three looked up, one of them listening, the others pretending to. "It's ridiculous. I don't want to do this anymore than you do, Weasley, but Hermione's right. I only ever detested you because of blood, but now that reason is void," he gestured towards Hermione, "and I have no purpose to dislike you anymore."

Ron stared at him for a moment, "But I have several reasons to dislike you."

"Those reasons being?"

"You stole my best friend, you tried to kill my other best friend, you work for my enemy, and you are the son of the man my father hates…"

"Ron…" Hermione said. "None of those reasons are even valid. First of all, he didn't steal me. I'm right here in front of you, waiting for you to be mature and accept us. You stole me from yourself."

Ron looked confused, "How – "

"I never tried to kill Potter either…" Draco interrupted, sounding slightly arrogant. "The only time I remember even pointing my wand at him at all was in second year when that Lockhart bloke forced us to duel…"

"But – "

"And he is on or side now so your third statement was untrue, too…" Hermione interjected.

Ron's eyes were annoyed and angry, "Since you are wrapped up in this logical rubbish, why don't you explain to me your reasoning behind that statement? What proof do you have that he isn't betraying you this very second, Hermione?"

Their eyes were locked together, neither of them wanting to break their eye contact and therefore their credibility. Ginny and Draco watched them both, studying the tension that leaked into the atmosphere between them.

"Trust," Hermione said shortly. "Something you would realize was possible if you gave him the slightest of a chance. To heck who is father is, how he was raised, and his past mistakes. All of that is easily forgotten when given the opportunity to slip the mind, but you don't want to believe that because it would mean changing. Because you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid."

"Rubbish!" she yelled at him.

And tears stinging her angry eyes, she rose from the table, almost knocking her plate to the floor. Then she walked briskly from the room, trying her best not to make a scene. Draco watched her go, his temper rising inside of him. Then he turned, fuming, back to Ron.

"You're a right foul git, do you know that, Weasley?" Ron only glanced at him and continued eating. "She was looking forward to this, which is the only reason why I even attempted to speak to you, and you ruined it. Why would you even bother apologizing to her if you don't really mean it, if you're only going to resurrect the issue? You have no idea how wonderful she really is if you feel comfortable treating her the way you do. She left this room crying because of you, and you don't even mind. If I am cold for welcoming what I am unworthy of, then you are frigid for being worthy and not welcoming it because of me."

Then he left.

* * *

When Hermione awoke, they were both gone. Ginny's trunk was missing from beside her bed, and Ron was not sitting in the common room, waiting to say goodbye. She hadn't expected him to anyway, not after last night. Of course, he was the one to blame since he couldn't be within three feet of Draco without saying one word too many, but Hermione still felt foolish for ever thinking it could be possible. Too much had already been done to rip them apart.

She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes, and she grumbled as they stung from crying before she fell asleep last night. When she was dressed and presentable, she went downstairs, sluggish and sore. But despite all this negativity, she smiled when she saw Draco, leaning against the banister of the Grand Staircase. He was looking out the window above the front doors, the snowy sky giving his face a ethereal glow, and Hermione couldn't help but forget about everything else.

"G'morning," she said coming from behind him and throwing her arms around his neck.

Her pulled both her hands to his mouth and kissed them gently, "Morning… You missed breakfast." He pulled her body around him so he was facing her as she nodded. " So I snitched this for you. Thought you might be hungry."

He pulled an object out of his pocket, wrapped in a napkin, and Hermione took it eagerly, feeling her stomach gurgle quietly. She unfolded the napkin to reveal a muffin, and thankful, she took a bite.

"Thank you," she said after she had swallowed.

He did not respond, only pulled her closer to him as they stepped outside into the cold. Other students were milling about, waiting on everyone to arrive so they could begin their Hogsmeade day. Professor McGonagall was standing to their left, checking names off of a list, and Draco headed in her direction, pulling Hermione along tenderly by the hip. They stood in the short line of students that had formed in front the professor as she ran her finger down the squat piece of parchment and scribbled names out with her quill.

"Where do you want to go first?" Draco asked her.

"I don't mind…" she said slowly. "Although I am rather fond of Honeydukes."

He laughed, "So you do mind… As it so happens, I was going to go to Honeydukes first whether you suggested it or not."

Hermione giggled as she leaned into him, "Great minds think alike, you know."

"Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy…" McGonagall stated absentmindedly. Hermione jumped, not aware that they had reached the front of the line, and Draco laughed at her as she blushed and watched McGonagall scribble their names off the list. "Be careful, and have fun. Off you go, then."

They walked across the grounds, their feet crunching on the icy flakes that had collected there overnight, to the white horses that stood waiting. They held sleighs behind them, ivory and open to the twirling snow that spluttered from the sky. Draco stepped into an empty one, reached out his arm, and helped Hermione into the seat next to him, and when the remaining students had filed out of the front doors, the sleighs began to move. Their blades made a swishing sound as they skidded over ice and snow, and Hermione found herself on Draco's chest, half-asleep, listening to them. She lay this way for at least fifteen minutes, feeling his hand brushing idly through her hair and the cold snow flick lightly on her cheeks, when the sleigh slithered to a halt.

She opened her eyes to find Hogsmeade just as she had left it last year, bright and warm, even though the chilly ice graced the roofs of the village. From her sled, she could see people bustling about, shopping, singing carols, and chatting with neighbors, and she became rather exited as she realized she would soon be among them. The trees dotting in between the buildings were decorated with enchanted candles that, even as the wind blew fiercely, never stopped glowing, and wreaths hung merrily on the doors, signaling the holidays had arrived. The cobblestone paths were clear of snow where people had tread and horses had trotted, hauling fresh goods across the town. Hermione had never seen Hogsmeade any other way.

The students climbed out of the carriages, the gates of Hogsmeade sitting just before them, tall and welcoming. As Professor McGonagall stepped in front of the wrought iron gate, they swung open slowly, mechanically, as if they knew she was there, and impatient, the small swarm of students pushed through them, even before they were completely open. McGonagall was yelling behind them to meet back at the gates at seven o'clock, but no one heard her as they scattered, darting into the various shops on the street.

As for Draco and Hermione, they turned themselves towards Honeydukes candy shop, hand in hand. Draco reached out with his free hand to open the glass doors, and as he did, a bell chimed, signaling their arrival. An old man behind the counter looked their way, observing his new customers as he straightened a stack of peanut butter fudge in the display case. This fudge was surrounded by other types of candy – chocolate bars, colored toffees, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. On the shelves were hundreds of other sweets – so many that neither Draco nor Hermione could possibly name them all.

The man smiled at them as they passed the counter, "Ah! The Hogwarts bunch has arrived! Welcome, welcome. Have a taste?"

He pulled out a small bit of the fudge, which he handed to Hermione, eyes sparkling. She giggled a thank you as she halved the block, giving a portion to Draco who had already snagged a bag from the dispenser on the wall and began to fill it with various candies. Hermione noticed he grabbed an extremely large handful of sugar quills, and she picked one out of the pouch.

"These are your favorite, then?" she assumed, examining the quill-shaped candy closely as it sparkled in the artificial light.

Draco nodded, "Specifically the apple flavored ones. Don't tell me you never had one, Granger."

"Okay, I won't," she said. "But I won't tell you otherwise either."

He pulled another bag out of the dispenser on the wall and took another handful of sugar quills from the bin, "This is for you. Honestly, you have to try them."

Hermione laughed and took the bag, "Alright then."

They browsed the shop for a long time, filling their bags until they hardly closed, and then they went to pay. Before she could object, Draco had snatched her candy, put both bags on the counter, and shoved three galleons into the old man's hand. She looked up at him, feeling guilty, and he must have noticed because he turned to her, silver eyes smoldering as usual.

"You deserve it…" he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.

She blushed, but did not argue with him. She knew it would be in vain if she did, so she waited on the old man to give them their change, and as Draco placed her bag in her hand again, they walked out into the busy street. The snow had stopped, but the sky still glowed white, as if it could spit out another flurry any second. And as Hermione was looking up, anticipating it, someone ran by her screaming.

Her head shot up, only to see Neville being chased by a Wailing Waterbomb, an orb of water as big as a quaffle. As it whizzed past, it screeched so loudly that the standers-by had to cover their ears. But then, it was hard to tell whether this shrieking came from the waterbomb or Neville. He was running with his hands in the air, head snapping backwards every other stride to make sure he was still ahead of the thing.

Beside her, Draco pulled out his wand and whispered, "Siccusi."

The spell flew into the air, black as ink, and collided with the ball of water, which dried in midair at its touch. As the onlooker's eyes followed the path the orb would have taken, they soon realized it had actually disappeared, and recognizing this, they looked confused, pupils darting everywhere, until all faces turned toward Draco's upheld wand. Neville, too, must have noted the absence of the bomb's screaming for he stopping running and spun on his heel. His face was blood red and sweaty from running, his dark hair sticking to his large forehead, and his eyes were wide as the people on the street backed up so he could know who had stopped the waterbomb.

When he saw Draco's wand, although Hermione didn't think it was possible, his eyes became ever wider, and he stuttered, "M – Malfoy?" He edged nearer, mind reeling. "Thank you."

Draco nodded, having not expected such a public display of gratitude while Neville's thoughts swirled. Maybe Hermione had been right along: Malfoy really was different. Perhaps listening to Ron talk so badly of him had caused him to see Malfoy in a distorted light, and now he was being proven otherwise. It was odd though for Neville, after years of disliking Draco – majorly because of the damage his aunt Bellatrix had done to his parents – to be able to be grateful to him for anything.

"Would you like to join us to the Three Broomsticks, Neville?' Hermione invited. "I believe that is where we were headed next."

Neville shook his head, "W- well, yes. I s'pose I could join you, but I will have to leave you when we arrive. H - Hannah Abbott has asked me to meet her there."

Hermione's face lit up, "A date, Neville?"

Neville laughed as they began to walk, "No, no. I'm sure it's nothing like that. She just wanted to sip a butterbeer with me."

"But, Neville," Hermione said, gesturing urgently with her hands, "it's just the two of you. Alone. You don't consider that to be a date?"

Draco shrugged, "She's right, you know."

Neville's mouth dropped open, half in shock, half in excitement, "Blimey… Hannah Abbott asked me on a date? Do you think she likes me? I'm an absolute wreck!"

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder, "Neville. You look wonderful. Just go and be yourself, and have fun."

As they arrived at the pub, Neville took a deep breath, chest bulging, and entered looking rather confident in himself. Hermione and Draco couldn't help but laugh, as they too walked inside. It was roomy, the ceiling tall with rafters stretching the length of it. Tables were dispersed in front of them, rectangular and filled with people, and to their right was an open area and then the bar, where men sat on wooden stools, looking rather wobbly. Some couples were in the open area dancing, the girl's dresses fanning out like a ripe flower, and the men beaming down at them. A chandelier was the only source of light in the room, as the illumination coming from the windows on the slanted ceiling was scarce due to the snow piled on the roof.

As they walked deeper into the place, Hermione glanced around, looking for someone she might know when her heart jumped in her chest.

"Tonks!" she exclaimed, waving her hand at the purple-haired witch sitting at a table near them.

She turned around in her seat, searching for source of her name, and when she saw Hermione, her mouth twisted into a brilliant smile. Nymphadora Tonks rose from her chair with her arms spread wide in welcome. She was wearing a loose blue shirt, the stomach of which seemed to be bulging quite a bit, and an old pair of baggy jeans which were covered in more patches than denim. Hermione came into her embrace, smiling as she did, until her stomach ran against Tonk's. Like she had been expecting, the shirt did not shrink from her when Hermione leaned against it, and she pulled away, looking curiously at it. Then she realized…

"You're expecting!"

Tonks smiled as her hand reached back to grab the shoulder of a man whom Hermione had not even noticed. The back of his head was covered with red hair, streaked with premature grey, and Hermione knew who it was before he even turned around.

"Remus! Congratulations, the both of you!"

Remus Lupin grinned, "Thank you, Hermione."

And as she rushed forward to grant him a hug, Tonks studied the boy who had come in with Hermione – tall, blonde, pale – and she realized this was her cousin, Draco Malfoy, whose family she had been removed from. But what was he doing with Hermione? His eyes flickered to hers for half a second, nervous and aware of their connection.

Hermione took a seat across from Remus, as Draco mumbled something about getting drinks and left to the bar. Hermione was still grinning, as she looked from Remus to Tonks.

"What are you going to name it?" she asked.

"Well it's a boy…" Tonks informed her. "So I would really like to name him Theodore and call him Ted for short – like my father. Remus seems to like the idea."

He laughed weakly, "I tell you I do."

"Oh, shutup, you…" Tonks crinkled her nose and smirked. Then she turned to Hermione, "So how long have you and my cousin been together?"

Hermione was confused, "Your… cousin?"

Tonks nodded, short hair bobbing, "Yes, Draco is my first cousin, but technically we aren't related since my mother was removed from the family for marrying my Muggle-born father. And I for betrothing my wonderful werewolf."

Remus shot her a warning glance, "Quietly, Dora. The last thing we want is for anyone to think I'm here to cause trouble."

"Oh hush it…" she replied.

"Since September." Hermione answered Tonk's question.

She nodded, looking past Hermione now, towards the bar, where she saw Draco paying for two butterbeers. When he had laid four sickles on the counter, he began coming back to the table, the mugs spilling slightly over the sides. Tonks couldn't help but notice his eyes, and she was surprised to see such an emotion coming from a Malfoy. After all, she had thought them all to be heartless and cold.

"Oh, look at the way he looks at you!" she whispered, smiling.

Hermione blushed, hand reaching automatically to her hair, "He's looking at me?"

"Like you're the only thing in the world, dearest."

"That's indeed how a boy looks when he is in love…" Remus added. "Madly in love that one is."

Hermione only smiled and blushed, not sure exactly how to respond, as a mug of butterbeer was sat down before her, foaming at the top. She looked at Draco, not sure what sort of look Tonks and Remus were talking about, but knowing it must be there. Perhaps she was only accustomed to it.

"Thank you…" Hermione whispered, as she reached into her pocket for a galleon. When her hand ran across one, she laid it on the table in front of him. "Here. I'm not going to let you get away with paying for everything I decide I want."

He placed his finger on the coin, pushing back towards her, "Yes you are. Believe me, Granger, I don't mind paying. No offence, but it isn't like I can't afford it…"

Hermione huffed, "Well it isn't like I can't afford it either… so take the stupid galleon."

Remus watched as they bickered back and forth, and getting an idea, he pulled a sickle from his pocket.

"Heads, Draco takes the money…" he announced, holding the coin over his fist. "Tails, Hermione keeps it."

Then he flicked the coin into the air, and Hermione watched it flip, toggling between heads and tails so fast that it was impossible to tell which it might land on. Within seconds, it clinked back onto the table, bouncing for a moment, and Draco sighed as it came to a halt on heads.

"Fine," he said, snatching up the galleon and shoving it into his robes. "But this is the only time I'm ever taking your money."

"Fine…" Hermione replied as she took a sip of her butterbeer, the mug warm and steaming in her hands.

The drink tingled and burned on the way down, syrupy and sweet, and she thought hard about coins as she lifted the mug to her mouth again. Watching the coin flip in the air like that had brought to her attention that everything they did was a coin toss. Neither she nor Draco could have ever changed which side the coin landed on, only watched it happen and hoped for the best. She decided that watching and waiting were the hardest parts of anything…

"I assume it's a Hogsmeade weekend then?" Remus interrupted her philosophical thoughts.

"Yes," Hermione answered, "for Christmas. What brings you to Hogsmeade?"

Tonks grimaced playfully and glanced down at her swollen stomach, "We figured McGonagall might want to know since I've had to relinquish my position as Harry's guard."

"Who took your place?" Hermione wondered.

It was Remus that responded, "Hestia Jones…. Besides, myself she seemed the only likely person for the task, and seeing as I couldn't accept the offer for several reasons – the baby being one of them – I suggested her. She's very talented so don't worry, and she's also acting alongside Shacklebolt, and Merlin knows he is capable."

Hermione nodded in agreement, remembering the large man from the few times she had seen him. It was quiet for a few minutes, as Draco and Hermione sipped their butterbeers and Tonks and Remus held hands and spoke to each other quietly. Hermione glanced out of the open door, where the snow had begun to fall again, distorting the people that walked by, bags and boxes in hand, completing their Christmas shopping.

"So I see you've joined me in breaking the code of blood then, Draco," Tonks said suddenly. "Not that there is such a thing…"

Draco laughed quietly, "Yes, it seems I have, and there is such a thing in my father's eyes."

Tonks tilted her head back, "Ah.,.. Lucius. Yes, he always a firm believer in pureblood supremacy, as was your mother, though perhaps not as avidly. Has he made it clear where he stands on your betrayal yet?"

"Quite."

Remus's eyes became worried, "What's happened?"

"Amycus Carrow tried to kill us…" Hermione stated, leaving out the details. "On Halloween, but he didn't survive."

"Really…" Tonks said thoughtfully. "Well it's a blessing you both are alive today, isn't it? Was he on his own, or did someone send him?"

Draco swallowed some of his drink before responding, "I'm fairly sure that the Dark Lord sent him. He has a vendetta against me for not achieving my assignment last year, and I predict I have failed him one time too many. He has been waiting for the chance to ruin my family for a long time..."

"Aye, disappointing You-Know-Who is the most foolish thing to do…" Remus admitted. "But it is also the bravest. Not many men have the guts to do such a thing. There's only one other besides you that I can think of, and he is undeniably valiant."

Draco smiled slightly, "It certainly wasn't easy. Still isn't… But it's worth it."

Hermione was blushing and grinning as she saw Professor McGonagall come into the pub, eyes searching for Remus and Tonks. Tonks must have noticed Hermione's detached gaze because she turned around to follow it. She waved her hand in the air as McGonagall spotted it and came to join them.

"I guess we'll be going then…" Hermione said. "It was splendid to see both of you. Congratulations again!"

"Thank you…" they replied in unison.

"Be careful, you two… and goodbye," Tonks called after them as they stepped out onto the street once more.

As Draco squinted against the sun, blonde hair blinding white by the light, he turned to Hermione with metallic pupils burning into her and asked, "Where to now?"

That night at seven o'clock, the sleighs were waiting on them once more at the gates, the white horses turned grey in the shadowy moonlight. Hermione was exhausted, her arms and feet aching from carrying bags and walking. She had, at least, managed to buy her own meal and most of her other things, and Draco had not objected. But now the day was over, and her eyes were half closed as Draco helped her into the sled. The sleighs began to move, but she barely recalled any of the colorless shapes that sped by as her head rest on Draco's lap.

Sleepily, she stepped from the carriage and would have lost her balance on the slick ice below if Draco's hands had not been latched to her hips, and together, they walked slowly to their rooms. Draco knew Hermione was tired because she had lost sleep last night, and this bothered him. She could never be happy as long as Weasley continued to lead her on.

He prayed for her to rest well as he kissed her tenderly on the lips and left her at the door to her bedroom. Then reluctant to leave her, knowing his presence would help her sleep, he entered his own bedroom, not sure what to do. He went to sit on his bed, wondering if his mother was expecting him at home, and as he thought about recent events, he didn't believe so. But still, he stayed awake for a long time, pondering over the idea, feeling a guilt – source unknown – creep into his stomach. When he finally laid his head down to sleep, he found himself unable to do so, his heart incapable of slowing itself as it pounded loudly in his chest, echoing in his ear as it pressed against his pillow. After what seemed like hours of staring into the dark corners of his room and thinking of his mother, his eyes closed and he fell reluctantly asleep.

* * *

Hermione awoke the next morning, feeling slightly scared as she listened to the ugly silence surrounding her. Even the birds outside her window seemed to be still as she sat up in bed, and after several minutes of waking herself up mentally, she got up and pulled on jeans and a t-shirt. She was just about to leave the room when she shivered, and suddenly, feeling cold, she pulled a jacket out of her suitcase and slipped it on.

She went downstairs to the Great Hall where breakfast had only just started, and she saw Draco, sitting with Neville at the Gryffindor table. Neville was speaking to him, but Hermione could tell Draco was far from listening. He looked weary, black circles surrounding his bloodshot eyes; even his complexion was paler than usual. He looked at her as she joined them, eyes tortured and tired.

"You look like you didn't sleep at all…" Hermione pointed out. Then, not to seem rude, she turned to Neville, "Good morning, Neville."

He nodded at her, mouth full of buttered toast that neither Draco nor Hermione had noticed appear. Draco eyeballed it idly as he rubbed his face.

"I didn't sleep," he confessed. "And you?"

"I slept fine…" she replied. "Maybe you shouldn't have eaten so many sugar quills."

He laughed, "Maybe so."

Suddenly the windows overhead burst open and the daily owl delivery commenced. Owls of all colors flapped by, carrying gifts, letters, and other such things and dropped them in front of the intended recipients. Draco was surprised when a black owl flew inches from his face, an envelope floating from its sharp talons onto his empty plate. Curious, he picked it up and turned it over, the flap fastened with the Malfoy family seal, and at first, he smirked, knowing that it was his mother wondering why he hadn't come home to see her. But as he studied the rugged handwriting on the front, he knew this had been sent by his father.

"What is that?" he heard Hermione ask.

But he could not respond over his painful heartbeat as his finger slid the letter slowly out of his pocket, as if to give it time to change its mind. He unfolded it, feeling the world slip liquidly away from him, drowning itself in the opening of the letter. He read it, the words formal and throbbing in rhythm with his head. Every word stabbed him, every syllable strangled him, and every letter was a drop of his own blood, displaying the meaning of the entire thing.

His surroundings were distant as he stared at the page, wanting to reread it to verify what said but not desiring to remember. He watched the paper slip from his fingers, but he didn't move to catch it. It would cost him too much. He found it painful to breathe, excruciating to _want_ to, and he wished nothing more than to disappear.

Hermione read the letter, written in an elegant yet rough hand. She knew it could only belong to one person – Lucius Mafloy – and it said this:

"**By request of her will, it is only honorable to, upon her death, inform you of and ask you to attend the funeral of Narcissa Black-Malfoy, who died at her home Wednesday, December Fifteenth, Nineteen and Ninety-Seven. The funeral services will be held at the Malfoy Manor on Sunday, December 26, at 11 A.M."**

Her breath caught, her eyes wide and set on Draco, who looked unresponsive, staring blankly at the table. He felt the ache running through his veins, poisoning him, and the bulk of it weighed him down. Nothing would have pleased him more than to cry, but his body would not let him, too preoccupied ridding itself of the toxin that was his mother's death. Something wrapped around his wrist, fingers, small and frail, Hermione.

"Come with me," he heard her say, her voice the only thing he could hear clearly.

He was not aware of his feet moving across the Great Hall, quick, frightened, numb. The room spun, the only thing visible to him Hermione and his own legs, which were moving too fast. Colorful light danced on his cheeks, but it did not wake him from this terrible dream. And he feared that nothing ever would. Now he was alone, and he felt the hot tears burn his face like acid. Hermione was in front of him, watching him, but he could not see her face. He just knew he needed her, and he felt the kiss before he even knew he had placed it on her lips, cold, hot, rough, smooth. His tears continued to fall, and he could hear his sobbing as he breathed between kisses. Hermione placed her lips on the tears as they fell, catching them in her mouth, tasting them, and without being aware of it, he had pushed her against the wall, forceful yet willing. Her breathing caught up with his, heavy yet hushed, and she placed her hands on the back of his head, pulling his hair, stinging yet lovely. Their mouths played with one another, light yet intense as his hand gradually traveled up her thigh, over her hips to the bottom of her t-shirt, where it slithered around her waist, cold yet warm. Hermione squirmed, uncomfortable with his touching her, and her lips stopped moving. Still, Draco continued kissing them, trying to get her to resume.

"Stop it," she whispered. And then when he did not, "Draco, please. I don't want to do this."

He pulled away from her, eyes red and swollen and so hurt. It was all he needed right now to be rejected by Hermione, but somewhere inside of him, he knew he didn't blame her. He backed away from her, feeling terrible for making her feel awkward, and his back rammed against the wall.

"I don't either…" he replied. "I just..."

He couldn't think of words to follow and didn't have the strength to say them anyway so he let them fade into nothing. Silence etched into the cracks he had just caused between them, something he had not meant to do. His emotions were bottled up again, too strong to relay in words, and so he kept them to himself, hiding them.

Hermione realized what he had been concealing yesterday about Pansy. When he had been so troubled so confused, he had gone to her for comfort – this sort of comfort. This was his back-up plan, his escape, his consolation, but Hermione could not give it to him. Not here, not now, not while he was in this frame of mind.

She studied him, sick and lonely, as he leaned against the wall, his legs giving out beneath him as his body sunk to the floor in a heap. He pulled his arms around his head, resting him on his knees, and heart cracking in two, she crawled onto the dusty floor beside him. She watched him, still crying, and she felt a bit guilty, as if she was partially responsible for the pain he felt now. After all, she had become Voldemort's excuse. He had been waiting quietly, patiently for another Malfoy to fail so he could punish the lot of them for their past failures, and she was Draco mistake.

"Do you want to talk?" she asked meekly, he eyes refusing to meet with hers.

He laughed once, humorlessly, "What's there to talk about, Hermione?! He murdered my mum! Is that so hard to understand?"

She was silent, scared for him, and as she watched him breaking down, she could feel everything he had become – kind, patient, emotional – crashing to the ground with him. Everything he had strived so hard to achieve was being turned to ash by the evil that had motivated him to change in the first place. No matter how hard he tried to escape it, she knew those evils would always pursue him, wait for him behind unlocked doors, and pray he would one day open them again, releasing the monsters that stood eagerly under the threshold. And she could not bear to think of that day, even though she feared it had already come.

"I love you," she said, kissing him gently on the cheek.

"And I you…" he whispered.

Then she rose, dusting off her jeans, and she offered him a hand up. He did not take it, shaking his head, and concerned, Hermione tilted her head to the right, her brows creased above her chocolate eyes.

"I need to think alone for a while…" he explained, eyes focused blankly ahead.

Reluctantly, she left him, recognizing that he needed his space, and as she shut the door to her bedroom, she heard his footsteps echoing down the hall. She climbed onto her tall bed, her ears catching the sound of the heavy door slamming shut at the end of the corridor, and she knew he was going to the woods, just like always did when he was troubled. She didn't expect to come back for a while.


	9. Chapter Nine: Pieces

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER NINE SUMMARY: Draco attends his mother's funeral in a unique fashion, and by doing so, catches a frightening glimpse of how his father is coping. Then, Hermione and Draco make an unexpected decision...**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Pieces**

"Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces."

- Anna Freud

"It isn't safe," Hermione pointed out for the thousandth time. "If your father sees you he will surely not hesitate to kill you."

"Hermione, it's my mother's funeral. I can't simply ignore it…" Draco replied, becoming tired of repeating himself.

This argument had been going on for a few days, teetering back and forth between each of their opinions. It seemed that neither was ever truly in the lead, as each small disagreement ended peacefully in a compromise, only to ignite again in the next hour. Of course Hermione knew Draco wanted – needed – to pay his tributes to the sole member of his family who drove him away from evil, but she couldn't let him go. She feared he would never return if she did.

"Then let me go with you," she suggested, as she turned in front of him.

He stopped walking, his feet standing on the day's old snow. Her breath was pouring from her red lips as white mist, escaping thick and then disappearing into the freezing air. Her gloved hands were wrapped delicately around his forearms, pleading, the itchy fabric hardly a comfort.

"If your goal is to avoid having me murdered, Granger," he replied emotionlessly, "then bringing you along is certainly not the most brilliant idea."

"But at least then we could be together…"

His eyes wandered away from her, sliding somewhere distant, as her pupils lingered expectantly on his ashen face. She was being completely ridiculous. What was their being together if the only recognition they would receive was death? As with the other days and the other arguments that had passed since his mother's murder, this one seemed to have no end, only strong and dying waves, and he exhaled deeply, opaque fog gathering in his eyes.

"And we would die together, too…" he said finally, silver eyes penetrating her.

When she only gazed at him, he shook from her tiny hands and began walking once more, crackling over the ice. Her head turned swiftly to follow him and her legs fell in step afterwards, walking briskly to catch up. She looked up at his face, where she could see his father hiding somewhere inside. She could see the coldness creeping over him, the torture seeping into his irises, and she had to look away. This was not Draco Malfoy.

"But it is an improvement from dying alone," she stated, eyes upturned to the sky.

The sun was begging to peek through the clouds overhead, to brighten the world, but the billowy monsters would not let him see. For every time one roared past him, another followed, smothering him from view. Hermione, frustrated, forced her gaze elsewhere. She felt Draco inhale beside her.

"You can't improve death, Granger," he pointed out. "You can only choose to feel it or be indifferent. With you by my side, neither of those options would be possible."

"Fine, I won't go if it makes the situation worse," she replied, "but you can't go on your own either."

Draco made a face, "And who do you propose should accompany me, Hermione? No one in their right mind would flank me to my mother's funeral, especially if it was to preserve my life. Most everyone in this school wants me dead."

"Except you…" Hermione said thoughtfully, gazing up at a tower that looked vaguely familiar. "Come with me."

She clutched his wrist, pulling him behind her as she came up to the tower, and suddenly, he recalled when he had seen it – the day when he and Hermione had skipped class together. They had snuck inside and found all varieties of potions and concoctions on the hundreds of shelves.

Hermione stuck her wand to the lock as she had the previous time and whispered _alohomora_. The door clicked open, and Hermione gently pushed it forward, listening to it groan in protest. The room was exactly as they had left it – the blackboard in the corner, the cluttered desks, and then the narrow spiral staircase to their left. Draco followed – willingly now – as Hermione dropped his arm and climbed up the steps. When Draco had set foot onto the next floor, he found that Hermione was already rummaging through the bottles on the shelves. She shoved flasks aside, pulling certain ones out periodically to read the label, and then she would move on to another section. This process repeated itself as Draco observed her search, afraid to interrupt.

"It has to be in here somewhere. He has to have some…" she was muttering to herself.

Draco edged nearer, "What are you looking for?"

"Shush!" she hushed him. "Why couldn't that stupid snake be organized?"

"He probably didn't think anyone would be snooping about in his storage…" Draco suggested cynically.

Hermione ignored him, as she rushed up the next flight of stairs. Draco did not fall behind her but instead observed her from below. It only took her a few moments when she gingerly plucked a bottle from the shelf. She glanced at the label and grinned.

"I have your solution," she called down to Draco. "Catch."

She flung the beaker over the wooden railing, and Draco caught it, the glass tapping his skin. It was full of a thick, black liquid, and he turned it around, the syrup barely moving. He read the faded label, and he laughed.

"Oh no, Granger," he shook his head. "There is no way."

She appeared at the base of the stairs beside him, "How else are you going to get in unnoticed?"

"Polyjuice potion is hardly legal and has a hour time limit," Draco said, handing her the bottle. "What if it begins to run out before the services are over?"

Hermione laughed, "Oh please, Draco. When did you begin to do things legally? Drink portions of it at a time. It doesn't take much to work… Quit acting like a two year old or I'm liable to transform you into one."

He sighed, "Theoretically speaking, if I do happen to take your advice, who will I be impersonating? There aren't many people here at Hogwarts that my father cares about, and of those that he does, most of them will be going."

"We will just have to convince someone otherwise…" she said.

* * *

The room was dark, desolate, emptier than it had ever been. Even the stars hanging past the curtains seemed less bright, and the moon was pale and lifeless. Somewhere in the lonely house, a chiming clock echoed, deep and haunting. It sang for midnight, cried for dawn, but something in the mansion would not let the morning come, as if the sight of the rising sun might shine ghosts onto the walls and shadows onto the dead floorboards. For eight days gloomy fog surrounded the house that was once a home, that once upon a week ago held a family. But now only one member remained, and despite his thankfulness to be breathing, he found it unfair that he, the one who had ripped the life from his own blood, should be the one doing so. But perhaps that in itself was punishment enough, being alone, starved and cold. He never imagined himself in this state, guilty and regretful, knowing it was his fault. Lucius Malfoy had not been convicted before, had not felt this painful remorse, and now as he did, he wished he could take it all back.

As he sat at her desk, he remembered everything he had done to hurt her. At the moment, it had all seemed so right, but he had been blind. He no longer recalled why he had begun to follow Voldemort, only saw the shattered remains the foolish decision had left behind. He could not even remember the last time he had told his own son that he loved him, the last time he had put his arm over his only child's shoulder. He only recollected the memory of holding him in his arms before any evil and promising to love him until the day he died. Sometime since then, that promise had turned into a lie.

On the fifteenth, he had been called out by the Dark Lord – something about a debt that was long overdue, only a simple murder. He didn't even remember their name; he didn't remember much of that night except for her hand dangling over the edge of the sofa, wine glass shattered on the ground beneath it. The thud of his heartbeat in his ears, trying to make up for the absence of hers, and then her frosted eyes, the blindness of them, a ribbon of lethal green light still visible somewhere within them. He hadn't wanted to believe it, his brain rejecting the idea, his body numb. Naturally he desired to blame someone other than himself, to condemn Draco, Voldemort, even Narcissa, but no one's actions were more mistaken than his own. He had caused this with his idiotic beliefs and careless decisions, and he had not even realized it until it was far too late.

Now because of himself, he lay in sleepless agony each night, his hands caressing the bed where her breathing body used to rest. His eyes played tricks on him as he stared into her pillow, her bright blue irises flashing for a moment only to evaporate the next. Sometimes, late at night when, like tonight, he could not sleep, he could feel her airy hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently, just like she would always do when he was bothered. Perhaps she really was still there in a way, lingering, waiting. Maybe she wished to see Draco before she left completely or maybe she would never leave at all. Or maybe he was just going mad.

* * *

Draco stood unaccompanied on the walkway that hung over the entrance of Hogwarts, arms dangling over the rickety wooden railing. The sun had finally decided to brighten the Grounds, but it did nothing for the temperature. This disappointed him for more than the sun, more than Hermione, more than himself, he felt the cold. It prickled against his skin, reminded him that although he may be numb to all else, he was not to its painful sting. And this was the one and only thing he wished he could not feel. With his mother, the cold had also stolen his heart, leaving him hollow and unsure, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not love the same as before. It was so difficult now to speak to Hermione without bringing to mind the battles their foolish love had resulted in, everything both of them had lost… Sometimes he wondered how much more each of them was willing to give.

A sound issued from nearby, pulling him lazily from his thoughts. He looked up to find Severus Snape moving liquidly towards him. His ebony eyes were focused dead ahead, unaware of Draco, as his robes chased behind him. Then, just as he was about to pass, he looked up flicking his greasy black hair from his face. Curiously, he stopped, feet gradually coming to a standstill as his dark pupils studied Draco, who stared back, emotionless.

"Malfoy…" Snape drawled thoughtfully.

Draco was silent, uncertain by Snape's tone whether he was greeting him of him he was only recalling the name. It had been a long time after all since they had conversed or even seen one another.

"You've been rather…. scarce as of late…" Snape continued after a long, awkward pause. "You did not take Potions this year, I assume?"

Draco shook his head, "No, sir."

"Mmm… A shame," Snape hummed as his pupils slithered farther down the hall. "I'm pleasantly surprised to find you alone. You and Granger have seemed nearly inseparable since November."

"Yes, well, we do enjoy our solitude from time to time…" Draco replied, slightly peeved at the surfacing of the topic.

Snape coughed softly, "I imagine you have been in contact with you father recently?"

Unsettled, Draco sighed and blinked quickly, "Yes."

"And in that case, I suppose you will be leaving for London soon?"

"Depends…".Draco breathed..

Snape's head snapped in Draco's direction, "On?"

"On if you will grant me a small favor," Draco replied, witnessing the annoyance in Snape's eyes.

"A favor?" he repeated, a bit incredulous. "What makes you think I will do a favor for you after you have so carelessly disgraced your father's name?"

"You needn't accept, Professor," Draco explained. "I only need to ask."

"What, might I inquire, do you have need of?" Snape wondered, considering.

Draco hesitated, "Only a lock of your hair, sir."

Snape's eyes widened, comprehension shooting across his face. He took one step closer to Draco as his eyes narrowed, "A polyjuice potion? You plan to attend the funeral services disguised as someone else? Are you that terrified of your father?"

"Considering the past three months I believe I have good reason to be," Draco argued.

Snape's features were hard, "And are you aware, Mister Malfoy, that polyjuice potions are quite illegal?"

"Yes, sir…"

"And also rather rare… Where ever did you come across one?" Snape wondered, coming closer with each word that escaped his thin lips.

Draco, uncertain of what to say, responded, "Hermione."

Snape backed away slightly then, "Ah, yes. Granger has always had a knack for discovering things she shouldn't."

It was quiet for a moment as Snape's shady eyes studied Draco carefully, thinking. Of course, it was a rather ingenious plan for him to disguise as someone else to the funeral. Granger had never been dull, Snape had to admit, and perhaps the boy did have cause to be afraid, as Snape recalled Lucius's detestable expression at the last Death Eater meeting. Then slowly, hesitantly, as if still trying to persuade himself otherwise, he lifted a hand to his head and plucked an oily black hair from it. He barely winced as he did so and handed the strand to Draco.

"Use it wisely," he warned. "And don't humiliate me."

Draco nodded a thank you as he brushed by Snape, holding the hair before his eyes and wondering why Snape had surrendered. Malfoy was once his favorite student – though he had imagined that this was no longer in effect – but perhaps there was more to Severus Snape than meets the eye.

* * *

A fire crackled beneath the mantle, warming the already cozy room, and the snow had stopped falling outside the Burrow. Still, Ron Weasley could not seem to melt the ice that had capped over his chest. He wondered if he should tell his parents about Hermione, but then, what would they do? Ron was aware just how much his father hated Lucius Malfoy, but what of his son? So with these questions unanswered he had worryingly kept to himself… Molly, of course had noticed his quietness, asking every so often what was troubling him, but he only shook his head solemnly.

And even though today was Christmas Eve and everyone in the Weasley house was merry, Ron remained unhappy. His oldest brother Bill and his wife Fleur had come home from Tinworth for the holidays, and his other brother Charlie had somehow found a way to visit from Romania. All the Weasleys were present, besides Percy, that is, but no one ever expected him to attend any family gatherings as they had not heard from him since he had graduated from Hogwarts. Ron had never been very fond of him anyway…

"Bonjour, Ronald," came a voice behind him.

Ron, startled for he had been deep in thought, spun around quickly, only to find Fleur standing in front of him. She was wearing a pink jacket and a scarf hung loosely around her neck, tickling his legs. Her blue eyes were dancing, just like always, and her blonde hair hung just below her shoulder blades.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for scaring you! Bill wanted me to tell you zat he is wanting to talk wiz you outdoors," she said in her thick French accent.

Ron replied by rising to his feet, Fleur watching him expectantly as he stepped outside. She waited at the door for a moment before turning back inside, probably going to help Molly prepare lunch. Ron lingered at the threshold for as long as possible. It wasn't uncommon for Bill to want to speak with him, as he often asked to, but perhaps recent events had convinced Ron that talking one-on-one was always an omen of a bad conversation.

Mustering up the mental strength, he turned around the corner of the house, where he saw Bill standing alone in the large backyard, hands on his hips, facing the thick forest that extended over the horizon. His long hair was, as always, pulled back in a short ponytail that was cut just below his neck, and he was wearing a thick leather jacket and boots. Nothing looked out of place as Ron tromped through the tall grass, putting him slightly at ease. He said nothing as he stepped in beside his brother, staring out over the millions of frosted trees just beyond.

Then suddenly Bill began to chuckle, and Ron looked up at him in surprise.

"Do you remember when Fred and George got lost in those woods?" he laughed.

Ron joined the mirth, recalling that particular day so long ago, "They claimed to have gotten lost, but really they were hiding from mum."

"Right," Bill nodded. "Because they had broken the window in their room with a Flaming Frisbee. And then Percy ratted on them, that humorless bloke. Mum was irate…"

They laughed again, and Ron felt comfortable now, much more relaxed.

"So what has been on your mind, little brother?" Bill said abruptly, letting Ron's heart sink again.

He should have guessed.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

Bill was silent for a few seconds, "Do you honestly expect me to believe that? Greyback didn't tear out my eyes, you know."

Ron's heart skipped a beat as he remembered the night – was it only a year ago? – that Dumbledore had died, when the werewolf Fenrir Greyback had bitten Bill. In truth, Bill was fortunate to be alive, escaping only with permanent scars on his face. Ron looked up at them now, deep and red, running over his left eye and down to his jaw, and he knew they would always look that way.

"Is it a girl?" Bill asked with a mischievous smirk.

Ron blushed, "In a way…"

"Is it a girl called Hermione Granger?"

Ron only nodded, his face downcast.

"Ron," Bill breathed, "women are vicious creatures… They thrive on compliments and kisses, and they never expect to offer any in return. But you see, no matter what, men have to understand that the lady always comes before himself. A man is content when his family is content. Believe me, I learned this quickly." His eyes wandered to the windows of the Burrow, where Fleur and Molly were visible, smiling and cooking in the kitchen. "Hermione never seemed liable to hurt you, but all women have that greedy gene in them somewhere, that gene that breaks young men's hearts. So what happened?'

Ron took a deep breath, heart in his stomach, "She's with someone else."

"Ah…" came Bill's simple response. "Someone you aren't fond of… or someone that you are?"

"Aren't," Ron spat, thinking of Malfoy's hideous mug.

"I see, but is she happy?"

Ron sighed, realizing where this was going, "Seems to be."

Bill nodded, "And this bothers you because you feel like she prefers him over you."

"Exactly," Ron looked up, slightly shocked at Bill's competence in women.

It was quiet for a moment, both brothers thinking hard about the predicament. Then Bill continued reciting wisdom, "Do I know the boy she is with?"

Ron winced as the name rolled off his tongue, "Draco Malfoy."

Bill tensed beside him, "A Malfoy? Of the Blacks? That lot is trouble. Death Eaters most of them… This changes things…" He paused in thought. "Does she act differently?"

"Not really," Ron shrugged. "Just likes to be around him all the time. Hardly speaks to Ginny and I anymore. Although that could be partially my doing."

"What do you mean?"

"She keeps attempting to pull us together, Malfoy and I, and I keep ruining it," Ron inhaled. "I didn't even put in an effort to be kind to him before the break. I wish I had."

"Does he try to be kind to you?" Bill wondered.

"Until I make a complete idiot out of myself…" Ron admitted. "Then he just gets pissed off."

"For Hermione," Bill added.

"What?" Ron asked, confused.

"He gets angry for Hermione," Bill clarified. "It looks to me, little brother, like you need to sort through your priorities. See, he stood up for Hermione before himself. That's the difference between this Malfoy bloke and you. Mind you, I'm not saying to interfere with their relationship as that would be extremely cruel, but you need to let go of your resentment and accept her as a friend. Remember her happiness is more important than yours, and if she is pleased with him – as much as I know you don't want to be – you have to be happy for her."

Ron did not say anything as he stared at his hands, thinking that perhaps Bill was right. He had been rather selfish, trying to keep Hermione to himself. He should have known someone else would be glad to have her, even if he didn't imagine it to be Malfoy.

"So let's go inside and see if we can't help mum and Fleur, eh?" Bill said, clapping Ron on the back.

Ron winced at the strength of his brother's massive hand as he nodded and followed him back into the house. Ginny had come downstairs during Ron's time outside. She was sitting quietly on the heavily-patched sofa, talking with their father about something very serious. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable as Arthur gestured animatedly with his hands.

"… taken right off the train apparently. No one saw her get off, and she didn't arrive at home that night," he was saying.

"Who's that?" Ron asked, concerned.

"Luna," Ginny said, her eyes watering.

Arthur patted Ginny on the back soothingly then turned to Ron and Bill, "She was kidnapped by Death Eaters on the journey home for the holidays. Don't know why… Probably something to do with her father denouncing You-Know-Who."

Ron furrowed his brows, "Is something being done?"

Arthur sighed, "There isn't much we can do. She is safe from harm, at least for the time being, as we are fairly sure she is only being used as a cruel bribe for her father, Xenophilius. Until he refuses to comply with their requirements, she is perfectly secure. We are trying to make contact with Xenophilius to ask him to prolong the decision as long a possible in order to give us time to rescue Luna… but so far we haven't been able to reach him by magical means."

"Do we know where this Luna is being held?" Bill asked, suddenly intrigued.

"Most likely at the Malfoy Manor," Arthur responded. "But we have no way of getting in and out of there unnoticed. It's extremely dangerous, usually housing several Death Eater at once, and sometimes You-Know-Who himself I have heard."

The room was quiet, as Bill looked subtly at Ron, remembering the conversation they had had outside. Ron saw his brief gaze and knew exactly what he was thinking. If they could get in contact with Hermione, Draco could easily – though perhaps covertly – release Luna from his home. Although, if they did choose to do this, the letter would have to be sent by Ron or Bill, as no one else, besides Ginny, knew of Hermione and Draco's relationship.

And without even excusing himself, Ron dashed up the old, narrow staircase, and ducked into his room. Then, pulling parchment and a quill from his trunk, he flattened the paper onto his desk, dipped the quill into an ink pot, and began to scribble a note to Hermione, praying she would bother to read it.

* * *

She knew it was Christmas, even though she was somewhere wet and dark, voices echoing above her head and footsteps rumbling the ceiling. This is all she had heard for the past few days she had been locked in this tiny room, besides the whimpering of the old, wrinkly man that sat in the corner opposite her. His matted silver hair and dark grey eyes looked vaguely familiar to her, though when she introduced herself he only replied with a half-mad grumble, putting a shaking hand in the air and pointing towards the trapdoor in the ceiling. Luna had tried multiple times to reach it, but the ladder was stored on the outside, leaving them with no means of climbing out After several attempts to get the old man to speak, Luna gave up, deducing that he was probably going insane. Judging by his sickly state, he had been contained here for quite some time. Despite his lack of response, however, Luna continued to talk about herself, thinking that perhaps he would rather listen, and most of the time, he acknowledged her when she spoke. From time to time he even smiled weakly.

Despite being locked in a cellar, Luna believed she was being treated rather well; she received hot meals – probably leftovers – from the tall, blonde man and her bed at least had a pillow and a thin blanket. The old man, however was not respected as she was, and more often than not, she would be willing to share her food with him, something which he seemed to thoroughly enjoy. He also muttered a garbled thank you occasionally, which made Luna feel quite philanthropic.

She imagined that her father was probably wondering where she had gone to, as she did not even arrive at home when he had expected her to. He had probably posted her picture in _The Quibbler_, maybe the photo from her last Christmas portrait, and had a large search team looking for her. Still, she was not worried. The people that had taken her off the Hogwarts Express had not harmed her – save for a small bruise on her shoulder where they had shoved a sack over her head – and if they wished to harm her, she doubted they would have waited so long to do so.

Suddenly the trapdoor opened overhead, bright light pouring in from the tiny rectangular hole. Luna squinted her eyes, shocked by the sudden change in atmosphere. She could hazily make out a figure squatted over the opening, sunlight surrounding them.

"Merry Christmas, jailbirds!" she heard the man call in his deep, husky voice.

His muscular arm extended into the room, holding something thin and writhing. He dropped it carelessly into the cellar, and it only took Luna half a second before she realized with a jolt what it was. There were two of them – long, angry black snakes – pushing themselves over the dirt, unblinking eyes locked on Luna's bare ankle. She squirmed, reaching for her wand, before she recalled that they had confiscated it upon her arrival at this place. The serpents slithered ever closer, inches away now, their spines tense. One of them suddenly rose onto its stomach and Luna squealed, closing her eyes tight. She waited for the pain to come, but it did not. Curious she pried her eyes open, looking at the old man who whispered something under his breath, his voice weak. Then she glanced down where the other snake was curling itself over her feet, but just as it caught the scent of her body, it disintegrated, burned by the wizened man's incantation.

Breathlessly, Luna turned to him, "Thank you."

It seemed she had judged these people far too soon…

* * *

He hadn't been anticipating a gift from his father and so was not disappointed when one did not arrive. Hermione had bestowed him with a long kiss, feeling dreadful for neglecting to purchase something for him on their visit to Hogsmeade, but he couldn't have been happier with her improvisation. She only received one gift, courtesy of her parents – a set of black, silk pajamas and a new book, which she had already begun to read. He could see her now, sitting cross-legged on her bed, bent over the thick manuscript, and he smiled to himself at her satisfaction. Looking at her, he forgot completely where he would be early the next morning – on a train to the lonely house once called a home.

As the light faded outside his window, turning ugly black, he cursed his foolish emotions and yet still somehow held them close. He wished so badly to turn them away but wished nothing more than to harbor them forever. He wondered when all of this doubt had birthed inside of him, when everything became suddenly unclear and artificial. Only a week ago, he had been madly in love, and now that emotion was diminished to merely a close friendship. He prayed it was only temporary, only brief, for he did not want to stop loving her completely. And as he drifted into slumber, he reminisced on her angel face and thought he would never let her go.

He woke up crying. His face was soaked with dry and fresh tears, sticky and damp. He didn't remember what he had been dreaming of, only that it had been terrible, and his heart burned inside of him with dread at the imaginary monster that had come as a dream. As if he needed to be reminded of the date. Today was the day he had been looking towards with dismay, the day he and Hermione had been planning for since the previous week, and even though he had had all this time to prepare himself, it seemed he was still not ready to confirm reality.

Professor McGonagall had offered to walk with him to the edge of the Grounds, where he could then Apparate to the Malfoy Manor, as it was not possible to do so on the Hogwarts campus. He had thought about objecting, not particularly wanting the professor to see him with the polyjuice potion, but after analyzing the situation, there was honestly no other option. So he had consented, and she had instructed him to meet her at the front gates at a quarter past ten.

After he had gotten dressed and made himself slightly presentable – although it honestly didn't matter since he wouldn't be going as himself anyway – he ventured downstairs, flask of polyjuice potion hidden deep in the pocket of his robes. It had warmed up slightly from the day before, nothing blocking the sunlight today, and this was a relief as Draco exited the front doors. Far ahead, he could see Professor McGonagall already waiting on him, even though it was only five after. Her burgundy cloak was flapping in the subtle breeze behind her, as her chin was raised, eyes staring at the peaceful blue sky. She turned around as she heard him approach.

"Ah, Mister Malfoy," she said softly, flashing him a sympathetic grin. "I take it that you are ready then?"

He nodded, afraid to speak, as a hard lump sat carefully in his throat, threatening to bubble over into tears. So he remained silent as he and McGonagall began their brief trek outside the grounds. The walk only took about fifteen minutes at McGonagall's brisk pace, but then again, the boundary was not that distant from the gate. When McGonagall stopped, she gazed at him, and not having spoken to one another the entire journey, she said only one thing with her eyes solemn and burning with sincerity.

"You are a brave soul, Malfoy. A very fearless young man. The strength to face this sort of unjust pain is something I could not even begin to envision, and somehow, you have always carried on. Peace be with you today. I will be waiting for you when you return."

And as he Disapparated from Hogwarts, he heard McGonagall call after him, "And please try not be late!"

Then his body was compressed – or so it felt like – rushing through space at an almost noxious speed. He thought only of his destination and keeping his grip fastened on the flask in his pocket, and within seconds, he was standing on the perimeter of the Malfoy estate. Draco noticed immediately that the lights were off in the house, but then again, he was rather early for the service, the time only being twenty-five after ten. He supposed he had better drink the potion before he stepped nearer to the house, and reluctantly, he pulled the container out of his robes, holding up in the sun, light glinting off the glass. It did not brighten the color within which, upon tossing Snape's hair into it, had turned an unappetizing, metallic grey color.  
Quickly, before he had second thoughts he uncapped the thick liquid, smoke rising from the flask, and he only held the vial to his lips for a brief uncertain moment before he tilted his head carelessly back and poured only a fraction of the potion down his unwilling throat. It was bittersweet as it rolled down through his chest, burning, and then it hit his stomach and began to spread. He could suddenly feel it coursing through his entire body, through his very core, and it stung. He could feel his hair growing darker, longer, more oily as it hung over his now black eyes, and his jaw became more square and his nose enlarged and curved as the transformation completed. Hermione had made it a point to inform him several times that his voice would not change until after the half hour, meaning he must feign Snape's slow drawl, and that the potion would wear off after an hour. For this reason he had to use it sparingly.

He walked up to the house, opening the door quietly, fearing by the empty windows that it would be quiet. It was louder than expected, though just a soft garble that was hardly worth calling conversation. Draco looked around, the place feeling so familiar, yet blaringly different, more somber, than he had ever experienced it. The chandelier was dimmed, almost to the point of darkness, and dust clung to the windows – something he had never noticed before. But then missing someone makes you open your eyes to a lot of things you had always overlooked.

The majority of the crowd seemed to be in the living room, the unintelligible voices escaping from there and echoing over the foyer and beyond. This is where Draco took himself, holding his head up rather confidently, as Snape had always done, and his presence did not go unnoticed as he stepped into the room.

"Severus…" he heard his alias's name.

He looked up to find that it was his father, Lucius, speaking, and although he normally guessed it by the tone of his voice, it seemed that this fact did not hold true now. In fact, if it hadn't been for the expensive pair of ebony and jade robes that were so familiar to Draco, he probably wouldn't have recognized his own father at all. His eyes were black holes, seeing and taking everything in but unaware of such, and underneath them, indigo patches were printed. His hair, which was normally so kempt, was no longer so, strands sticking out in random directions, and even his body looked weaker as opposed to the man Draco remembered from July. It frightened him considerably, but he attempted to regain his composure, remembering cautiously to stay in character.

"Lucius…"

"And why not the front door?" Lucius asked, glancing skeptically in vicinity from which Draco came.

Then Draco realized his mistake. Of course Snape would come in the front door, but this error was easily covered up.

"Ah, that," Draco grumbled in a nearly perfect replica of Severus's monotone. "I Apparated, you see. You can end up bloody anywhere using that impractical piece of magic."

Lucius forced a weak smile, "This is true, Severus. I'm delighted you could attend."

He stuck out his hand for Draco to shake, which he did with great potency.

"And how are you, Lucius?" Draco asked, curious for his own purposes. "Frankly you look dreadful."

Lucius suddenly morphed into a stone, cold man, "Alas, Severus, looks are not always deceiving. It has been with great difficulty that this day approached, as it was painful enough to –" He paused, not desiring to utter the words. "And now it is being relived. Do not consider me a fool for asking Severus, but is Draco fairing well?"

The question took Draco by surprise, unaware that he even crossed his father's mind anymore. It took him a few second to compile his response.

"Sadly, I find him to be quite detached, even from Granger, which is extremely rare. But as a whole, he seems to be dealing with it in a rational manner."

Lucius only nodded, eyes sinking into the wall ahead of them, "You would know, Severus. Do they truly appear to be in love?"

Draco sighed, struggling to retain his authenticity, "I have seen merely glimpses, Lucius, but from those small observations, I would have to wage a yes. They seem very important to one another," he paused then added, "as much as a despise to admit it."

Lucius only nodded, eyes void of emotion, though perhaps if Draco had bothered to look deeper, he might have glimpsed a twinge of regret. He wondered if perhaps Narcissa's passing had opening his eyes also for Draco could not deny it had opened his. Draco took this moment to look around the room more closely, and as his head swiveled to his left, he was surprised he hadn't seen it before. It sat on a pedestal, black marble, a pattern embroidered in gold on the edges, the lid open and leaning against the wall – a casket. White and red flowers were settled over the front of the table, cascading to the floor in a rather gloomy fashion. Recognizing what it was, he quickly turned away, his eyes closed. He was even more grief-stricken when someone called for the services to begin. Two men – ironically Death Eaters – came to move the coffin from its place, and feeling ill to his stomach, Draco wearily followed the bunch of people outside.

As they came closer, Draco saw the hole in the ground, the place where she would be buried, and it seemed unimaginable still that she was gone. It was almost as if he was expecting her to come somewhere inside of him, to fill the vacant place in his heart she had left behind, but somewhere within himself he also knew he was wrong. Maybe the worst part was imagining otherwise.

People slowly rolled from the house in slow motion, their expressions frozen sculptures of sorrow and perhaps slight indifference, their robes moving languidly behind them, their hands clasped in front them, heads bowed, eyes closed. A silent prayer, a sigh, a sob, a tear sliding down Lucius's hardened face. Draco watched it fall as someone read a memorial, watched the drip of saline fall to the dirt. He could almost hear its muffled splatter hit the ground, as it sank into the thirsty earth. He could see it cry for more, but Lucius refused to give his tears away, holding them behind his lids with careful and forceful balance. The speaker's voice dragged, long and pronounced, as if wishing Draco further torture. And as if on cue, the back of his hands began to tingle, signaling the wearing off of the polyjuice potion.

Startled, he pushed through the crowd, attempting to remain unnoticed as he snuck back inside the house, finishing off the last off the liquid. He briefly looking in the mirror to confirm that the concoction had worked, and then, feeling more at ease, he came back to the service, where the man had ceased talking. Now muscular men were heaving the casket into the hole – six feet deep. The box sank, invisible now behind the wall of dirt, and it rested there until they pushed the soil back into place, leaving behind only a grassless rectangle. No one moved when this was done, as the reality of it hit them all at one. Many of the Death Eater's wives began to weep, their husbands pulling them close, other making a face. Lucius and Draco only stared in reflection at the tiny plot of land, thinking about how much they had taken for granted, how much she had meant to them. Draco did his best to hold back tears, to stay in his disguise, but he found it rather difficult, allowing a pair of tears to roll from his eyes.

Many people, after the burial, transformed the event into a social gathering, something which Lucius didn't mind. All of the women came to hold his hands sympathetically and dab their eyes with tissues, while the men merely nodded their empathy. Thankfully, no one approached Draco during the entire affair, and for this, he was quite pleased as he began to return to Hogwarts. But as he did this, he heard someone running behind him, calling the name of his false identity.

"Severus!" Lucius hollered, looking rather curious. "I need to speak with you about my son!"

But Draco could feel his body shrinking, changing back to the form his father surely did not want to see, and in a panic, he flew into the house, frantically trying to devise a plan. He didn't have time to Apparate, as Lucius was just behind him, and as he heard his father's hand on the doorknob, he did the only thing he could think of: flung himself into the cellar.

He heard a gasp from somewhere beside him, "Draco Malfoy!"

He spun around, heart racing as he spotted in the dim light, Luna Lovegood.

"Shut up, would you?" he whispered fiercely. "He doesn't know I'm here."

Above them, footsteps thudded loudly, and as they became loudest, they stopped. Draco could sense them standing directly over his head, and as he looked up, he realized that he had left the trapdoor slightly ajar in his flurried attempt to hide. Cursing himself he turned to Luna.

"We have to leave…" he said. "Grab my arm."

Luna hesitated saying, "We can't leave Mister Ollivander…"

Draco's head shot to the corner where Luna was pointing with a frail, shaking finger. He hadn't even noticed the ancient wandmaker sitting the corner, looking quiet ghastly. And he sighed internally as he saw Lucius bend over the crack, blocking the sliver of light that had been peeking through. Quickly, he and Luna rushed to Ollivander's side, and Draco clutched his bony wrist as Lucius tore open the trapdoor. Immediately, Draco froze, eyes meeting his father's for a long moment, each pair not knowing quite what to expect from the other. The last thing Draco heard before returning to school was his name being called. It was not angry yet not pleased, surprised yet expectant, and this he had not been anticipating…

White smoke erupted around them as they stumbled from space onto the exact place where he had met McGonagall before. She was not there yet, as he was a few minutes earlier than he had planned, and breathless, he faced Luna and the wandmaker.

"What were you two doing in my basement?" he asked, he laughed coldly.

Luna was the first to speak of course, "I was kidnapped by men in silver masks, Death Eaters I assume. Then I was in that musty old place."

Ollivander opened his mouth, nearly silent words escaping, "Took me they did from my own shop. Had only a few seconds to realize the danger before they scooped me up, destroyed by brilliant collection of wands, and dragging me by my limbs to that cellar. I've been in there for months now. Your father and several others used to come down periodically to ask me questions about Harry Potter…"

"Harry Potter?" Draco narrowed his eyes. "What about him?"

"Mostly things about his wand…" Ollivander replied, not sure if he should trust this Malfoy boy or not.

"Hm," Draco nodded, aloof.

He looked into the distance to find McGonagall's silhouette floating ghost-like towards them, feet moving rather quickly over the wet grass. Her eyes widened as she saw who was by Draco's side, and her pace quickened automatically. She rushed up to them with arms in the air.

"Oh my!" she cried. "It's seems you are a bit of a hero today, Mister Malfoy. However did this occur?"

Draco shrugged, "Coincidence."

"Well, yes," McGonagall chuckled. "And a very miraculous one at that! If all of you could follow me…"

They walked back to the castle, Ollivander leaning weakly in between Draco and Luna's shoulders. It had been so long since he had stood on his own that he found himself rather incapable of doing so. McGonagall was a shepherded behind them, making sure the legendary wandmaker did not lose his grip and instructing them on where to go. When they had reached the fourth floor – the floor which held the hospital wing – McGonagall stopped and spun around to Draco.

Her eyes were twinkling behind her glasses, "I believe Hermione deserves your company, Mister Malfoy… We will continue from here to the hospital wing. If you wouldn't mind, could you alert Madame Pomfrey that her services are needed there?"

Draco nodded as he continued up various staircases, the way to his room memorized. He spoke the password to the large doors and then entered, going directly to Madame Pomfrey's door and knocking on it. After a moments, she answered, her expression inquisitive, and Draco told her of the patients awaiting her care downstairs. Upon hearing this news, she thanked him for informing her and scuttled quickly from the corridor, muttering worriedly to herself.

After watching the door slam heavily at her heels, Draco turned to Hermione's door and knocked, feeling as if he hadn't seen her in ages, and to his elation, her light steps could be heard on the other side. The door opened slowly, almost reluctantly, and Draco became abruptly nervous. Silver eyes concerned, he stared at her, and as she looked up, her face was drenched in tears and her eyes red and puffy. The sight of it shocked him for only half a second.

"Hermione…" he said, the words escaping as a troubled sigh. "Are you crying?"

She wiped her face with the back of her forearm and curled a piece of hair behind her ear, "Well… I… I suppose I am."

Draco paused and then back away from her door so she could come out into the hallway, "Come here."

She did not object and came miserably into his arms, where she usually felt comforted, and thinking this terrifying thought, she burst into hysterics. Draco remained motionless, hand running up and down her arm, over her back, into her hair, as her tears saturated his robes, and although he was confused, he was also perfectly silent. It was a few minutes of bawling before he interrupted her.

"What's on you mind, Granger?" he said, still holding her comfortably.

She pulled away from him, unsure of what to tell him, and shaking her head, she walked to the stained glass window at the end of the hall and sat down on the ledge beneath it. He followed closely, not wanting to leave her now, and he sat down beside her, his hand snapping onto the top of hers. She glanced down at it, so warm and inviting, but yet… She couldn't believe she was thinking this now. Tears were still pouring from her eyes, but she was no longer gasping for air or wailing; only softly releasing the rain she had bottled inside of her.

"Please?" he prodded.

She sighed, trying not cry again. When she spoke her voice was thick and nasally, "You'll be angry."

"No," Draco urged her, grabbing her other hand and holding it too. "No I won't. I promise."

"You don't even know what it is," Hermione shook her head. "How can you promise?"

Draco smirked, as a lock of hair fell into her eyes. He pushed it back saying, "Alright then. You tell me what is bothering you, and then I'll let you know if I can promise to retain my vicious temper…"

Hermione didn't laugh, but instead sighed as she replied unwillingly, "Well while you were away last night… and… and this morning…" she took a deep breath "it gave me time to think, which isn't good sometimes. And then I started feeling guilty again… for… for… your mother and…" Tears began to flow freely again, running into her mouth as she spoke. "And I feel awfully terrible about everything that I've caused, and I'm sorry…"

"Granger, none of this is your fault," he sighed, looking into the wall behind her, thinking. "It's my fault and my father's fault, and that is all. Don't call this your mistake."

She shook her head defiantly, "No, Draco. If I hadn't been foolish enough to fall for you, this wouldn't have happened. Don't misunderstand me, Malfoy. I truly, honestly _love_ you. It's just…"

Then he realized what she was getting at, what all along he should have known was a handicap, "You miss him."

Her eyes wandered to his, innocent, pleading, and also quite pitiful, "Yes I do, but not just that, Draco. I miss Ginny, Neville, Harry, the warm welcome of the Gryffindor common room, the freeness to be myself around other people. Heck, I even miss Colin Creevey, the obnoxious git! And look at you! In a lot worse shape than I am, and I'm the one complaining. It's so humiliating and stupid… We don't deserve this. I know we don't."

He inhaled, the tone of her voice starting to make him comprehend, "No… we don't, and it isn't fair. Never was…" He paused for a long time, watching her hand turn his palm over and lightly trace the folds in it with her fingers. "Hermione… if you want to wait for this, it's alright. I've been feeling the way you do, too, about things."

"So you know what I mean…" Hermione stated, her eyes wandering his handsome face.

He nodded, "I know exactly."

"And you aren't upset with me?"

"Not in the least."

She breathed, "But I don't want to hurt you…"

He smiled weakly, "Hermione. As long as I know that you still care about me, you could never hurt me. I want you to be happy, and if right now you aren't because of things battling against us, I understand completely. It is rather frustrating, I'll admit…" he kissed her forehead. "One day, when the Dark Lord is defeated and the world is rid of evil, then we can be together once again. Perhaps now is not the time or the place, but nothing can or ever will separate my heart from yours. Do you understand?"

She nodded and then flung her arms around him, exploding into tears once more, and he sat with her for a long time, watching the sunlight filter through the window above them, the colors somehow sullen beside their exasperated image. He had felt this coming, had known it would happen, and now that it had come, it was bittersweet. It was hard to let her go, but he clung to the fact that it was only temporary, only until Voldemort had fallen, until the terror that forced them apart finally faded into the veil. And now, holding her here in his arms for a fleeting last time, he had only to wait until that day would come…

* * *

A/N: _Okay so i didn't want some readers to think this story was over. It certainly is not. You all probably want to plunder me with your pitchforks, and actually, I am not sure I myself am satisfied with this... weep worthy cliff hanger. But it's something i have been thinking about for a while. Sorry!_


	10. Chapter Ten: Thieves

A/N: Okay guys. I want to apologize for the agonizingly long wait for this chapter. Really I have no excuse. Those lingering reviews from chapter nine have been gnawing at me and I simply couldn't leave it unfinished. So I hope that this and the chapters that follow will be well worth the wait. Enjoy. :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.

OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction :) Please read and review. Thank you :)

**Chapter Ten**

**Thieves**

**(jan 3)**

Bellatrix Lestrange was not known for displaying emotional distress, even under the most severe circumstances. In fact, Bellatrix was not very emotional at all, save for the frequent occasions that she glowed before Voldemort. But now… now she was furious. Her boots were thumping briskly over the littered sidewalk of Knockturn Alley, and her eyes were narrowed and focused, darting about to frighten away the eyes of curious onlookers. In one hand, she held her wand – twelve and three-fourths inches of walnut that, at her will, could cleanly decapitate a man – and in the other hand she clutched a faded picture of her dear sister, Narcissa.

Bellatrix had never cared for her parents much; they had always been a little stuffy and pompous. And Merlin knows she loathed her Muggle-loving sibling, Andromeda, but Narcissa had always been a good friend to Bellatrix. She had stood for her beliefs until her final breath, and Bellatrix was proud. There was no higher honor than to die carrying out the Dark Lord's will, something Lucius had apparently forgotten.

She was on her way to remind him.

When she saw the old, rotting sign hanging over the street, she knew she had arrived at Borgin and Burkes, but she wondered if they would still let her in. Surely they would for weren't they allies? She stomped under the threshold, attracting the attention of the shopkeepers and a few shady witches gathered in one corner of the shop. She shot them a threatening glance, and they immediately went back to cackling amongst themselves. Confidently, she approached the large, tattooed man that stood behind the counter , and he peered down at her through reptilian eyes.

"Whadda ya want, miss?" he growled. Then, seeing her seething expression he mumbled, "If it's poison ye be lookin' for, there's a fresh batch brewin' over there now." He poked one of his meaty thumbs towards the crowd of witches, whom Bellatrix now realized were bent over a steaming cauldron of black goo.

"No poison today," Bellatrix sneered. "But perhaps another time when I'm in a better mood." The man stared at her intriguingly, and she leaned in closely, "I need to use your fireplace."

"Right," the man said. He led her into the back of the store, where several boxes were piled against the walls. A cold, dead fireplace sat mundanely on the northern wall. The shopkeeper scratched the back of his head, "There you are. But I don't want to hear of ya goin' anywhere near Hogwarts, ya hear miss? Got me in a load of legal muck last time when ye tried that, and I can't afford closin' down right now. Ya hear, miss?"

Bellatrix offered him a weak smile and then turned to the fireplace and whispered, "_Incendia._"

A fire flickered instantly in the blackened pit and she waited for its hungry flames to grow large enough to toss in the Floo powder.

"D'you hear what I'm sayin', miss?" the large man repeated. "I can't have ya goin' – "

She took a step closer to him, close enough for her to smell the liquor on his breath, and she grinned, "You know sir, you really should think before telling me where the poison is, especially if you're going to flap your yap so much."

With a quick pat on his thick cheek and a handful of Floo in the fireplace, Bellatrix Lestrange was gone.

Within seconds she stumbled into the familiar dining room of the Malfoy's, and recovering from her nauseating journey through the Floo network, she propped herself against a wall until the urge to vomit passed. She reminded herself to use someone else's fireplace next time; Borgin and Burkes had always been a stomach-turner.

"Lucius!" she called, her shrill voice calling back to her in the emptiness. "Lucius! It's Bella!"

She waited, craning her neck to hear anything that might indicate Lucius was home. When she received no reply, she clumped into the foyer, which was equally inert, and called for him there. Her eyes wandered to the banister, where she had seen him standing on countless nights, observing all his wicked guests file through the front door, calling meaningless good-byes. They were always so cordial and proper, but give a pack of starving wolves a doe and see if they don't rip each other apart trying to get to her first.

Bellatrix wondered into the kitchen and the parlor next, and neither one of them contained Lucius. She wondered absently if someone had already been here and killed him before she got a chance to discuss her business with him. This thought only added to her anger, and she stormed into the living room with her fist tight around her wand. If she saw someone other than Lucius, she was going to fire at will.

Luckily, the first face she saw was Lucius, and her expression softened but only minimally, "I was calling for you, Lucius."

"I know," he mumbled.

He was sitting at an old writing desk that was caked with dust, and his eyes, frosted over, were fixated on the cloudy sky outside the window ahead. He looked like his soul had fled and all that was left behind was a hollow shell. Even Bellatrix, in all her sadism, had eyes to see that Lucius was not himself, but she hardly believed that was reason for abandonment of their cause. The only solid reason for that was death.

"Why didn't you answer me?" Bellatrix snapped in reply.

"I tried not to hear you," Lucius grumbled. "Apparently all efforts were in vain."

"Apparently," Bellatrix repeated, settling down on the sofa behind Lucius. After a moment of quiet, she continued, "We need to talk about… arrangements." Lucius didn't respond for several moments, pupils still stuck to the sky. "Lucius?"

"It was all my fault…" he murmured.

Of course, Bellatrix thought, the new Lucius that believed in everything invisible. Like happiness and guilt and – Merlin forbid – true love. It was rather embarrassing for Bellatrix to witness.

"Don't you dare Lucius Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. "None of this is to blame on you. If you want to blame someone, blame your son. If it hadn't been for him and that filthy Granger girl, we wouldn't be having this… this debacle."

Lucius shook his head, "No. If it weren't for me, this would have never happened. No one would have gotten hurt."

Bellatrix clicked her tongue, " All these years Lucius I've known you have been sitting on the fence. You never believed that the Dark Lord was returning, but when he did, you rushed to his aid because you are tactical and like to be on the side with the upper-hand… I've always respected you for that Lucius. After all, personal issues should always be on your agenda; I believe that myself. But now, Lucius, now your son has gotten our innocent Cissy murdered, and you choose to hop the fence again?" She took a step closer to Lucius, leaning on her elbows on the writing desk, and whispered, "You've seen what he can do Lucius. I'm only trying to help you understand. You think you're valuable to him, but value only works in your favor for so long. You've abused your rights, Lucius. His mercy is running on empty for you, and frankly, so is mine."

Lucius rose quickly from his seat then, breathing heavily in Bellatrix's face, "I will not be allied with the creature that murdered my wife, not for you and not for anyone. This isn't over, Bellatrix. You know the war is on the horizon, and I don't want to be wedged in between the swords. I'd rather be fighting with Draco… for Draco. Otherwise, he will be caught in the same fate as I was."

Bellatrix sighed lackadaisically, "Suit yourself, Lucius." She made to leave, boots thumping towards the front door. Lucius followed her with a worried expression. She was standing in the doorway when she spun on him, "But you should know that the Dark Lord isn't your only adversary."

A pang of dread shot through Lucius then for he knew that Bellatrix was livid, and he knew that she would do anything to get revenge on whoever she saw fit. Right now that person was his son, Draco. Lucius rushed out the front door, robe flapping behind him, and he stood on the front steps and clutched the stair rail. He called, "Bella! Bella, if you touch my son, I swear to Merlin – "

The only sound he heard in response was Bellatrix's insane cackle. It flooded the empty property, rushed over the high hedges, crept into the gardens, and filled every crevice with a mad howl. It burned his insides with anger and utter panic. No time, he thought, no bloody time. Bellatrix would already have a plan, and he was helpless against it. He was about to lose everything… everything he had ever cared about, and there was absolutely nothing he could do. Even still, though knowing it would be in vain, Lucius scrambled inside to the writing desk that had become his only refuge as of late. A faded, crumpled photograph of Narcissa had been placed there – by Bellatrix, no doubt – but it was quickly brushed aside. With shaking hands, Lucius fumbled for ink and quill and nearly ripped the parchment stored in the desk as he began to scribble a letter, addressed to the one person he most afraid to lose.

Ginny Weasley was lounging in the Gryffindor Common Room. There was a fire crackling calmly in the pit, and the faint aroma of butterbeer lingered on all the furniture and clothes. Christmas decorations still dangled – ripped and broken – over the couch and fireplace. Ginny had the urge to take them down, but there was still one more night of holiday break. She'd be dead before she took them down, though perhaps given recent events she shouldn't speak so lightly of death. Hermione was sitting in a chair across from her, if she was even there at all. It seemed Hermione had transformed into more of a ghost over the past few months and increasingly so over the holidays, and although Ron had hoped she would be happier with Draco gone, Ginny knew it would only make things worse.

"What do you think he's doing right now?" Hermione blurted suddenly, looking at Ginny for an answer.

After countless inquiries such as this, Ron had politely excused himself and disappeared into his dormitory grumbling under his breath. Ginny wanted to do the same, considering the circumstances, but Hermione was simply heartbroken. It was a breakup with a boy Ginny couldn't stand but a breakup nonetheless, and she couldn't expect Hermione to emerge from it skipping.

"I don't know Hermione," Ginny said. "I'm sure he is wondering what you're doing."

Hermione nodded, "Sure. You're right, Ginny. I'm being ridiculous. I just hate not… you know… being with him."

"Well no one put a ban on him…" Ginny pointed out. "You just broke up… Broke up mutually too, which is basically not a break up at all. Right?"

"I suppose…" Hermione sighed. "But I can't just… hang around him. That would defeat the purpose of breaking up in the first place."

Suddenly someone was lolling down the steps to the common and the conversation came to a halt as Ron shuffled to a stop before them. In his hand, he held a letter, and he rubbed his eyes as he stared at it, "Bloody middle of the bloody night and an owl comes tapping on my window…"

He tossed the envelope at Ginny, who picked it up from the couch and broke the seal with a long fingernail. She slid the enclosed letter from inside, and all was silent as she read quietly to herself. The more Hermione watched Ginny's face, the more certain she became that the letter was about Harry. As Hermione observed further still, she was sure that it was not a good letter about Harry. In fact, after completing the note – or reading as far as desired – she began to cry into Hermione's shoulder. Ron shot Hermione a panicked look and snatched the note from the floor to read it aloud.

"'Dear Ron, Ginny, and Hermione: I have both good and bad news to deliver. The good news is that the locket of Slytherin has been destroyed. The bad news is that Harry has been captured by Snatchers and is being held hostage in a location currently unknown." Ron glanced up at Hermione, " Either way, we are trying our best with what little information we have. Ginny, don't you fret dear. We will find him. In the meantime, however, keep your eyes and ears open at school for anything that might help. Love, Molly Weasley.'" Ron stared at the worrisome letter, "Blimey."

Hermione stroked Ginny's ginger hair as she continued to sob into Hermione's shirt, and all the while Hermione was thinking, the wheels in her head were churning with no result. Harry could very well be anywhere, even hidden somewhere in the Muggle world. It would be nearly impossible to find him unless they had some sort of lead. And if they were going to pick up on a lead, it was going to have to be very, very soon. Harry's days it seemed, by the urgency of Molly's letter, were numbered. Thinking about it, sheer panic rose inside of Hermione; there wasn't enough time or information.

"What are we going to do?" she asked quickly, voice cracking slightly. She could feel tears burning her eyes.

"I don't think there's much we can do," Ron mumbled, making Ginny weep harder, "except what mum said – keep our eyes out here… Blimey, Harry."

Bellatrix stepped into Borgin and Burkes for the second time that day with a foul grimace plastered to her face. The witches were no longer hovering over their brew, but it was still steaming in the corner. Several containers had been filled with the black liquid and placed in a basket behind the cauldron, something Bellatrix would not have detected had the shopkeeper not previously informed her of the poison. It was late so there was no one manning the counter, and Bellatrix wondered if they would notice if she took a vial or two for herself. She decided no witch has the patience to count her potions and filched two bottles from the basket before wandering into the storage room behind the counter.

She cursed under her breath as she turned to see the large tattooed clerk on a cot against the wall. His bulging stomach was rising and falling with his rumbling snores, and Bellatrix noted with distaste the half empty bottle of rum within his reach on the floor. She fingered one vial of poison in her pocket while pensively eyeing the alcohol. She figured he was going to be overwhelmingly disappointed if he awoke to the knowledge that she had infiltrated his store and gone against his earlier order of keeping his merchandise out of Hogwarts affairs. In fact, she thought he might be very, very angry with her, which might endanger her life considerably. So given the situation, Bellatrix justified that she must do something to protect herself from future harm and figured it was his fault if she did. If he hadn't been passed out drunk, he probably would have seen her slip a bit of poison into his drink. She constrained a giggle as drops of deadly liquid dripped from the neck of the vial and swirled in the contents of the man's bottle.

"Mmmm…" Bellatrix hummed at a nearly inaudible level. "There you are dear. It's much better than the liquor I promise. And besides, you don't have to fret over that legal trouble I'm getting you into now…" She pulled her wand from her pocket and whispered, "Stupefy."

Bellatrix smiled as she guessed he would never know the difference between drunken unconsciousness and the result of the spell, poor bloke.

She stepped as quietly as she could into the Vanishing Cabinet that was placed across the room from the man on the cot. The door squawked in protest as she pulled it shut but it closed with a soft click, and she had a dizzy spell before opening the door into a room filled with useless junk. Books, clothes, and contraband among other miscellaneous items were scattered about in swaying piles. It was a wonder that someone hadn't looted this room with all the valuables in it, and Bellatrix made a mental note to investigate sometime. Right now, however, she had other business to attend to.

Stepping over various piles, Bellatrix made her way slowly to the door, which was inconveniently on the other side of the room. Tiptoeing through the mess, she eventually found herself in the hallways of Hogwarts. She jumped once in excitement, the only sight in the darkness her teeth glimmering in a manic smile. She had made it alone, when Voldemort had needed an entire crew of men. Wait until she told him this story. Taking into account this small victory, Bellatrix opted to skip down the corridor, all the while humming a melancholy tune and keeping her black eyes open for the unlucky fool who might be able to help her with the password. It took longer to find a Gryffindor roaming the halls than she thought, so long that she had stopped skipping long before she found him. It was simply the trouble she had gone through to get into the school that had kept her searching, even if she had an inkling she wasn't going to find anyone. But look! Here he was! Rather skimpy for a big, brave Gryffindor, but she didn't need him for any sort of courageousness. If he could talk, that was all she would require from him.

He took an awkward step backward when he saw her, eyes bulging through his eyelids. Bellatrix sensed his fear, a quality she had picked up from her many years as a Death Eater, and she absorbed it like a sponge, practically feeding off of it. She edged gradually closer to the boy, who at her first advance took off running in the opposite direction, but Bellatrix was quick and cast a spell that tripped him. He skidded across the rough stone with a sickening scratching sound as Bellatrix caught up with him. She rolled him over with the toe of her boot, examining the damage, and seeing the bloodiness of his pajamas, she was cruelly satisfied. The boy's lip quivered for a moment and let out a yelp to which Bellatrix counteracted swiftly.

"Mollis," she muttered, directing her wand at the boy's lips. His screams were now reduced to a low sigh, and Bellatrix closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Now, now, can't have you attracting attention. I need to ask you a question…"

From among the stolen vials in her pocket, she produced a small container of veritaserum, something she had filched from someone at one time or another. She shook the bottle in the boy's frightened face, "You know what this is…"

The boy nodded.

"And you know that I'll use it…"

Another nod.

"And if you're smart, you'll play along and tell me the password to that lovely little house of yours…"

The boy shook his head vigorously. Bellatrix gave an animalistic growl and shoved the vial in between the boy's lips, the glass of the bottle clinking against his teeth. He struggled, kicked, punched and bit when he had the chance, but Bellatrix had his jaw and was forcing the liquid down his throat despite his efforts. She gave a slight laugh when she realized she had succeeded in administering the potion, and settled back on her haunches, the boy's skinny, shaking face in her left hand and her wand in her right.

"Now, tell me the password of the Gryffindor Common Room," she snarled with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The boy fought the words in his throat for a moment; she could see him trying to swallow them back into his stomach with tremendous exertion. But they both knew that veritaserum was reliable and that the words were going to escape eventually. The boy, after several minutes, wisely gave up trying to shut his mouth.

"C-caveo m –malum," he stuttered as Bellatrix leaned in close to hear his rasping voice.

"Very good," she smirked.

For a moment, she considered casting a quick and easy avada kadavra on the boy, but judging by his injuries, she probably wouldn't need to. Blood was pouring from places where his skin should have been and gathering on the floor, spreading like miniature rivers through the network of grouting. No, she thought, he would be just as well without her help. She left him lying there in the sticky puddle of crimson as she spun towards the Gryffindor Common Room. The cool wind of her cape over his open wounds would be one of the last reliefs he felt, but she barely considered it. She had one thing on her mind and one thing only.

From the perspective of most, the castle was unsettling at night, but Bellatrix found it rather exciting. The torches on the walls had been merely embers since curfew ended, thus there was no light in the corridors, save for the occasional window letting in the faintest glow of solemn moonlight. There were no sounds but the cooing of owls in the distance. The empty deadness was overwhelmingly exhilarating to Bellatrix, and in her impatience, she quickened her pace.

The Fat Lady was asleep when Bellatrix arrived at her painting. Her head was lolled against her hefty breasts, and gurgled breathing sounds were emanating from her gaping lips. Bellatrix pulled up the hood to her cloak and coughed meekly. The Fat Lady stirred drowsily, her eyelids sliding open only enough for her to make out an outline of what might have seemed to her like an ordinary student. Bellatrix stayed still until the portrait said something to her.

"What in the name of Godric Gryffindor are you doing up so late, young lady?" the Fat Lady mumbled, still half-asleep. "Erm… yes, well. Password?"

Bellatrix tried to disguise the distinguishable pitch of her voice as she said, "Caveo malum."

The door swung open lazily, and it took all Bellatrix had not to laugh out loud at her own cunning. She would dare anyone to say that she wasn't placed into Slytherin for a reason. She stepped inside to the darkness and coldness. She could smell it, the reward waiting just above in her dormitory like an innocent rabbit waiting to be snatched by the sly fox. She was so close, so close, just up the steps, easy now, one at time Bellatrix, don't get too eager, take it nice and slow, savor it… Oh yes, she was going to enjoy this. There were others in the room of course, who she would be unfortunately required to take out, but what is one death to another? A few more casualties couldn't hurt to shock these poor ignorant schoolchildren. Oh, what would the headmistress think if she found three dead bodies in a dormitory normally filled with four living ones? And on the first day back at school? Thinking about it, Bellatrix realized that her timing had been brilliant, though she hadn't planned for it to be. She was giddy with the idea of ruining a multitude of people's day when they discovered her felony.

She grinned even wider at her luck as she saw posed on the dormitory doors, the names of the occupants. Spotting Hermione's name on the third door to her left, she rushed to it. The doorknob was like ice to Bellatrix's hungry hands, and she turned it with struggling patience and caution. On the other side lay her prey like helpless lambs, and she was prepared to stick them under her powerful paw with a quick swipe of her wand. And she wouldn't feel particularly terrible about it either.

Cold air rushed into her face through the crack in the door, and upon entering the room she saw that the window had been opened, the red and gold curtains waving in the icy breeze. Deep breathing was emanating from each of the four beds, and Bellatrix wondered how she was going to do this without alerting the entire room. She decided the prize was worth the suicidal risk; after all, hadn't Narcissa lost her life? What difference would it make if Bellatrix suffered the same fate?

She glanced at each of the slumbering faces. Two of them looked the same – dark skin, dark hair – and one of them was blonde. But one, one was exactly who she was looking for. Light brown curls were scattered over the pillow, shimmering ethereally in the moonlight over her bed. If pressed, Bellatrix might admit that the mudblood was pretty, a real rarity for muggles to produce, but she was in no position to say such a thing about a filthy bit of wasted magic, especially Draco's filthy bit of wasted magic.

It happened quickly, all at once. Three identical spells, flying bright green from Bellatrix's wand, tainting the room with an eerie emerald glow. Simultaneously, Granger shot up from her pillow, mouth open in a silent scream, but Bellatrix was rapidly at her throat, eyes hidden behind the hood of her cloak but still seething with malice. She twisted the wand into Granger's slender neck, a growl rumbling in her chest, "You make one single noise, and I'll shoot the worst sort of sorcery into your pretty little gullet."

Granger's eyes flickered unintentionally to her wand, which lay on her suitcase on the other side of Bellatrix. Bellatrix took immediate advantage of Granger's mistake, reaching with her free hand to grab Granger's only possible defense. She studied the wand for a moment before laughing quietly, "Looking for this little thing? I think I may keep it for a bit. It looks rather… mmm… valuable."

Suddenly Granger roared, hand snapping towards a quill on her bedside table. It came soaring hurriedly in the direction of Bellatrix's side. Bellatrix saw the shining tip of the quill at the last moment and jumped back from the jab. As she dodged it, however, the makeshift weapon still

caught on her forearm with surprising force, the point tearing skin from the crook of her elbow to the palm of her hand. She held in the cry of pain that was pushing its way up her throat, for she couldn't scream now and alert the neighboring dormitories. She was too close. Instead, she gritted her teeth and clutched Granger's sneaky hands in her own.

"You little prick!" she whispered forcefully through clenched teeth. "I don't have to be gentle with you, but I would really like to keep you breathing until I'm through with you. Even still, one more bloody move like that one and the only way you'll ever see the light of day is if they dig you up from your teeny tiny Muggle grave."

There was a moment of stillness in which Bellatrix was glaring at Hermione under the shadow of her hood, squeezing Hermione's cheeks together with one hand. It was in this moment that Hermione sucked in her cheeks, pooled saliva under her tongue, and spat directly onto Bellatrix's forehead. Involuntarily her grip loosened on the mudblood's face to swipe the string of spit that was dripping down her nose, and almost instantly Bellatrix realized her blunder. Granger sprung up from her mattress, feet dodging the lifeless forms of her roommates, in an attempt to escape. Blindly, filthy mudblood spit in her eyes, Bellatrix fired a stunning spell, knowing her entire scheme depended on its accuracy. A thud followed as Granger's unconscious body crumpled to the ground. Her hand, which had been on the doorknob, slid down the door with a hiss.

Bellatrix smiled in satisfaction as she scooped Granger up, threw her haphazardly over her shoulder, and left the way she came. She crammed into the wardrobe and came out again at Borgin and Burkes. The cold body of the shopkeeper was lying in an awkward heap on the floor, foam dried around his lips. The bottle of rum was emptier than his quiet heart. Drank himself to death, poor bloke, Bellatrix thought to herself and cackled.

Her laughter was a flock of a million ravens screeching through the moonless night, its black feathers falling on the indifferent ears of beggars and criminals in the dark, wet alleyways. Sick pleasure flew beneath its wings and carried it to the children of Hogwarts slumbering in their beds. Ignorance would lend them no comfort for they should have known and innocence would grant them no relief on the part of the missing.

Draco sat awake in his bedroom, wide awake in fact because something felt very much out of place. Perhaps, he thought, it was only the idea that Hermione was staying with Ron and Ginny in Gryffindor tonight. The password had changed numerous times since he last knew it, and she was just out of his reach beyond the portrait of the fat lady. He knew he shouldn't be so protective as Ron and Ginny wouldn't let anything happen to her, but he didn't like being away from her knowing that something could happen. Darkness crowded in around him until he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, and he looked to his bedside table, where his candle had flickered out.

"Alright," he whispered to himself. "I suppose that's a sign, then."

He took a deep breath and settled down into his comforter, but it didn't calm him down. If anything it made him feel farther away from Hermione, and he lay awake under the comforter that was just one more thing in between he and Granger. He was being selfish and knew it, but he couldn't stand the thought of Hermione with that weasel. If he could be selfish, then so could Draco, especially since Hermione didn't belong to Ron. Still, it wasn't like Draco didn't trust Hermione; she knew what was within her boundaries, just as he knew what was in his. And in all honesty if anyone were to cross the line, by the record, it would probably be him. Therefore there was nothing to worry about… maybe.

"I can't sleep like this," he grumbled. He tossed his covers off and heard them land on the floor at the foot of his bed. "Bloody Voldemort. Should've died in the first round, you foul git. Then we'd both be rid of our problems…"

Frantic knocking was Draco's alarm clock the following morning, but he groaned and tried to ignore it. His sleep had been restless and his dreams nothing good, and he wanted nothing more than to drowse in peace. Was it too much to bloody ask? Still, the knocking continued, pausing every few seconds for the opportunity to be acknowledged, but Draco did no such thing. Not until he heard the door click open.

It was Snape.

"Knocking is a courtesy Malfoy," he snapped. "Not that you would know any better."

"What is it?" Draco disregarded Snape's comment, not particularly wanting to chat.

"All students are required in the Great Hall," he replied and turned from the doorway.

Draco was unsure what lured him out of bed, especially since it was early. Maybe it was simple curiosity, but something told Draco that this was urgent. Why else would McGonagall call such an early gathering? His thoughts drifted immediately to Hermione, probably just as unwilling as he to get out of bed, but knowing her, she wouldn't miss it for the chance that it might involve Potter.

He threw on his robes rather messily not bothering to glance at himself in a mirror, and left the common room. He wound through the labyrinth of the dungeons until he came to the narrow staircase and exited into the Entrance Hall. Many people were gathered in the small space, talking and waiting to go into the Great Hall. Draco tried to eavesdrop to attempt to find out what was happening, but nobody else seemed to know either. Whatever was going on was something no one had expected.

Draco pushed through the dense throng to the Great Hall, which was equally as crowded, and sat down at Slytherin. He gazed about the room, eyes still squinting with drowsiness. Upon the High Table, the teachers were talking gravely in low voices, lips sheltered behind their hands. Occasionally, they would glance woefully at the students gathered at the house tables and then turn to talk again. The only one that didn't seem to be speaking much was Snape, perched in his usual seat and focused straight ahead, but that didn't shock Draco much. The students were just watching – watching the High Table, watching the air, watching the other students. No one at the four tables appeared to be talking, or even seemed like they wanted to. Three tables over at Gryffindor, Ron was glaring at Draco with unrivaled loathing, his sister Ginny looking up frequently to allow her pupils to flicker nervously between Draco and her brother. Draco did not expect to find Weasley so hateful this early in the morning, and he absently wondered if Weasley simply woke up angry every day. Hermione was not beside him and nowhere else to be seen. She slept in, Draco convinced himself. But he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that was growing and growing, like a spider spinning a web

Eventually everyone was seated in the large room and eyes were focused on the High Table, where McGonagall was rising from her seat to address the mysterious issue. Even she looked like she was on edge, a bit flustered, which was not at all common. Her fingers twitched on the podium as she began, "Good morning all… I apologize for the early waking. As many of you are aware, today was intended to be the first day back to school, but I am sorrowful to announce that this will not be the case." A few students cheered, but one glare from the headmistress was all it took to shut them up. "The reason for this is… difficult to swallow. It seems, by the account of several Gryffindors and a handful of others, that there was an intruder in the castle last night. They invaded primarily the Gryffindor Common Room, though other areas in that vicinity had signs of an unwelcome visitor. The intruder killed four students, all Gryffindors, and one Gryffindor is unaccounted for."

Silence. A multitude of eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, to the places where the missing would have been sitting. The realization came to Draco like a whomping willow, like a thousand blast-end skrewts. His stomach twisted with the mere thought of the truth, but he knew that it was the only legitimate assumption.

"Professor," Draco said suddenly, almost unaware he was speaking at all, "who is missing?"

He did not look up to make eye contact, to affirm the suspicious stares that were pouring onto his bowed head. He focused on the table in front of him, on the sickening green and dull silver, on the words he knew would emerge from McGonagall's mouth, on the inevitable confirmation he didn't want to come.

McGonagall did not look taken aback by Draco's question, but she didn't answer immediately. Saying it had happened was easy but accepting that it did was harder. She replied shortly, "Hermione Granger."

A rustle of whispers and robes occurred as everyone turned to gawk at him, as if he were the persecutor. He was appalled that people distrusted him so much as to imagine that he would lay a hurtful hand on Hermione, that he would even consider murdering people when he couldn't even kill a wild owl. The stares did not stop when they were dismissed, not when Draco shuffled in a trance up the Grand Staircase, not when he felt the iron grip of panic in his chest, and especially not when Ron Weasley appeared in his face, stopping Draco in his tracks.

"Malfoy, you git! Where the bloody hell is she?" Ron was saying, pushing Draco every few syllables. "Where the hell is she?"

"I don't know Weasley!" Draco said, frustrated with being accosted. "I don't bloody know! I love how something goes wrong and everyone points to me like I'm at the bottom of it." Draco raised his voice now, almost like he was speaking to the entire Entrance Hall, "Did it ever occur to any of you that maybe, just maybe, I had nothing to do with this?"

Draco pushed past Weasley but he only followed, keeping up with Draco's fuming pace.

"No it most certainly did not bloody occur to me! If you didn't know she had been taken then why did you ask like you knew?" Ron said, his irate voice pounding on the walls and high ceiling.

"Because I was concerned after what's happened before!" Draco roared, turning about on his heel. "Why didn't you ask, Weasley? She's your best friend. Here's a thought. Perhaps you should be more concerned about your world than mine."

"What's that s'posed to mean, Malfoy?" Ron's voice cracked with volume. "If you're implying to keep out of your business, I can't! Hermione is my business, and you and Hermione apparently go hand in hand!"

Draco pushed Weasley into the wall, his forearm barred across Weasley's chest to keep him in place. Underneath his robes, Draco could feel his heart beating wildly, and judging by the look on Weasley's face, he knew Draco had stuck him between a rock and a hard place.

Draco spoke through his teeth, "For the entire year, Weasley, you've been sulking… Oh, woe is me. Draco's stolen Hermione from me. You've played the victim like – "

"I haven't pl-"

"Shut up!" Draco shook his arm against Weasley's neck. "You've played the victim like a professional. And even now, when Hermione is missing and in danger, you try to turn things around on me because you're so jealous you can't even see properly!" Draco paused. "I'm going to find her, Weasley, and you'd do best to stay out of my bloody way…"


	11. Chapter Eleven: Heroes

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction :) Please read and review. Thank you :)**

**Summary: Draco makes a heroic effort with a bit of unexpected help, but will he escape in one piece?**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

**Heroes**

Minerva McGonagall didn't have much of a choice. Although the incident had occured only last night, time was running short and nobody seemed eager enough to take responsibility. If anything, the fact that Draco Malfoy had unexpectedly burst into her office demanding permission to begin a search for Hermione should have been a blessing to MInerva. But sadly blessings were difficult to recognize under such distressing circumstances.

"I can't have you endangering your life and the lives of others," MInerva protested. She didn't know why she disliked the idea; Malfoy didn't act as if he had anything to lose. Doubtfully she added, "Someone will be able to help..."

Her disapproval seemed to be causing Draco much frustration, "You don't understand, Professor. It's very urgent that I find her!"

Oh dear, were those tears in his eyes?

"Now, now, Mister Malfoy, I am just as aware of the urgency of the situation as you are." She took a steadying breath, "However, I must ask that you think rationally about the dangers that your request entails."

"I don't care about the dangers, Professor!" Draco snapped. "Hermione is missing and it's my duty to find her!"

Minerva allowed his words to linger for a moment, "There will be many perils..."

"So there will..." Draco nodded.

"There is a favorable chance that you may be killed..."

"So there is..."

"There is a chance that Granger may be killed..."

"And if you don't allow me to go after her, that chance will remain."

Minerva studied the boy before her with a serious eye. It was plain that he meant exactly what he said, but allowing him to do what he was asking was hard for McGongall to condone. If any more students were killed or went missing, it was unlikely that the Ministry would permit her to hold her current position as headmistress. And not only that, but she wasn't sure she could handle any more personal grief.

"I have to do this, Professor," Malfoy was urging. "I don't have a choice. I was asking permission to be polite. I'm taking the risk whether you consent or not."

McGonagall almost smiled at his dogged determination, "I figured as much, Malfoy." She paused, "If I allow you to do this, I have one condition..."

Without hesitation, Draco said, "What is it?"

"Recently Harry Potter was captured by Snatchers in the Forest of Dean," McGonagall informed him. "Should he be with Hermione, you are expected to return with him as well."

Minerva saw reluctance fill Malfoy's silver eyes, which did not surprise her. Even if Malfoy's intentions had changed, she assumed it would still be difficult for him to accept Potter as an ally just as it was challenging for him to get along with Weasley. But Minerva knew that as long as Malfoy came out with Granger in the end, he would do nearly anything.

"B-but, Professor, I hardly think - "

"Mister Malfoy, I suspect you are treading very thin ice with very many people right now. But what better way to secure their trust than to rescue the Boy Who Lived from You-Know-Who himself?"

"Well I-I suppose, yes b-"

"Very well then, Mister Malfoy," MInerva confirmed, opening the book she had been reading before he had interrupted her. "You may leave whenever you like, and you might like to have a word or two with your father on the way."

Without another word, Minerva lowered her glasses to read as Draco Malfoy gave her an inquisitive look and then walked briskly out the door.

* * *

Hermione knew it was unlikely that anyone would be coming for her. She knew her roommates were ead and that Draco and Ron would be frantic when they discovered she was missing. She was aware that, although she knew Bellatrix Lestrange was her captor, there was little chance that anyone would know who the kidnapper had been. Also, she had not discounted the fact that Bellatrix was unquestionably trying to use her as bait for Draco. What she was absolutely unsure of was her location and exactly how much danger she was in. Her location was most likely incomprehensible in the darkness that pressed around her, but she could sense the danger. Up above her she could hear voices talking seriously about something, and occasionally someone would open the door to the room she was in to maske sure she was still there. It was extraordinarily difficult for her to know she could easily escape this dungeon if only she had the use of magic. She felt unexplainably vulnerable, especially without her wand, which Bellatrix had confiscated what seemed like ages ago.

The only thing that had kept her going these dreadful hours in this jail was the cheerful fact that she had found Harry. He was slumped over besider her, weak but still able to relay the tale of his journey. He had been extremely elated to see her, and she could barely contain her gladness at the sight of him. But they were not joined under the most glorious of circumstances, and it put a slight damper on the reunion.

In the joyfullness of the moment, Hermione had not mentioned Draco to Harry, and she thought that it was probably better if she waiting until they had evaded this place. At least then she could run if he became overly upset about it as ron had done. She didn't think Harry would be jealous at all but angry for other obvious reasons, and she didn't want to ruin there time together here by bringing it up.

"So explain to me what happened to you again?" she asked Harry before he could ask her the same question.

"I said You-Know-Who's name in the Forest of Dean, and they caught me," he told her again. "Apparently this is what happens to you. I think they've been debating on what to do with me. If I were anyone else, they might have already killed me."

"Well then," Hermione smiled even though her head was sore and bruised, "it's a very good thing that you are you."

"No kidding," Harry chuckled. "Why are you down here, Hermione?"

Hermione hesitated, "Erm... I'm not sure I should say."

It was quiet for a moment as Harry imagined what could be so bad that Hermione wouldn't want to tell him. Then he said, "Why not?"

"I just... I don't want you to be upset," she admitted.

Harry smiled, "I won't be upset, Hermione..."

"that's what you say now," Hermione threw up her hands. "But that's exactly what Ron said and he was so incredibly hurt and angry."

Harry creased his brows, "You're fighting again?"

Hermione nodded, "Since October... We went for months without speaking, Harry. Even now, we aren't the same way we were before. And really I've done all I can to fix it without... well... I've just tried so hard, and ron doesn't respect my feelings at all. It's almost liked he doesn't want to get back on good terms with me."

"He must have a good reason for being mad at you though," Harry prompted. "I mean ron's hot-headed sometimes, but he usually has a motive..."

"That's just it, Harry!" Hermione said, gesturing with her hands. "He had anexcellent motive, but then... well it's extremely complicated... but things changed I guess you could say, and he no longer had a clear reason for continuing to provoke the issue."

Harry was becomging annoying t Hermione dodging the topic, "If you would tell me what that issue is Hermione I might be able to provide some perspective..."

"Not a chance, Harrry," Hermione crossed her arms. "I;m not getting into an arguement with you, too. You're going to find out eventually so you might as well wait..."

Harry grinned feebly, "Well in that case, waiting is something I have become quite good at..."

It hadn't been a second after Harry finished speaking that the door to their prison burst open, a blinding light flashing in the unsuspecting eyes. When her eyes had become had become adjusted to the brightness, she dared to look at the person that could have been her savior just as equally as it could have been her executioner. But instantly she knew that tonight was not the night that she would be rescued; she knew when she saw the wild black hair and the huge black eyes that this intruder was anything but merciful. She was Hermione's capturer, Bellatrix Lestrange.

* * *

Ron was pacing rather furiously about the common room. Ginny was watching in pull at the back of his hair as he passed the fireplace for the hundredth time that afternoon. She wasn't exactly sure what he was angry at, and frankly, she wasn't sure he knew either. If Ginny expeced him to be angry at anyone, she figured it would be Malfoy, but then, given that Ginny believed Malfoy had been genuine in all he had said that morning, she doubted he would have been behind that attack. Ron, on the other hand, would be very comfortable accusing Malfoy of just about anything that involved Hermione. And Ginny considered that Ron could have been internally angry with himself, though she was positive he would never let her see it.

"Why don't you sit down, Ron?" she asked him, attempting to avert the eyes of the other Gryffindor students who seemed to be alternating between staring staring at Hermione's dormitory door.

Ron stopped pacing but did not take a seat. His blue eyes lingered on the fire under the mantle, studying its flames with a mix of sorrow and desperation. His face was yellow in the shifting, his hair a deeper orange, and Ginny had never seen him so forlorn. Not even when he had found out about Draco.

"How can I sit, Ginny?" he said, surprisingly in a normal voice. He probably didn't have the energy for anything more. "My best friends are out there somewhere in danger, and I am completely useless to help them. If I know him, Malfoy'll be up there to save the day yet again. Bloody git."

Ginny wavered, "R-Ron..."

"What, Ginny?" he barked, still using his unusual inside voice.

"I-I don't think that..." Ginny flatered again. She didn't want to upset him further. But he was being ridiculous, seeing things the way he wished to see them, and Ginny couldn't take anymore of it. "I don't think that you're being... very... erm... fair."

Ron was quiet for a few seconds, the most baffled expression plastered on his face, "Fair? Fair about what, exactly?"

Ginny shrugged, "About anything, really. Don't be angry, Ron, but I think that Draco is innocent this time..."

"Innocent?" He was definitely losing his grip on the inside voice. People in the room began to ogle again. "SInce when do people use 'Malfoy' and 'innocent' in the same sentence like that? Since when do you believe everything that foul git says, Ginny?"

"Since I opened my eyes, Ron!" Ginny defended herself. "D'you know what, Ron? I don't think Malfoy was too far off this morning. You have been so consumed with everything surrounding your relationship with Hermione, rather than you friendship that you haven't been seeing things for what they truly are! It has nothing to do with you, Ron! It's simply one of those things that is completely beyond our control. Understand me now. It isn't a war. it isn't a competition. It's merely what Hermione wants, and that is far beyond you grasp."

Ron shook his head defiantly, "No, Ginny, I'm giving up. I won't lose her."

"You won't lose her, Ron," Ginny laughed slightly at his needless worry. "She's your best friend."

"Exactly..." ron said meldramatically.

Ginny stood up to leave, "Well, be happy you can at least still call her that much." She gather her things as ron stared at her with injured eyes. Ginny didn't look at him as she ascended the staircase to her dormitory. She paused at the landing, looking down on her brother from the balcony, "You sure didn't make it easy."

* * *

Draco didn't waste time with his mission, but he didn't want to leave the castle until he had some sort of idea where he was going. He though perhaps the Gryffindor Common Room might have a clue. He had been standing outside the Fat Lady's door, asking the various students that came in and out if Weasley was inside. Most of them ignored of gave him nasty looks, which he supposed was to be expected what with their suspicions of him, but his inestigation was becoming increasingly frustrating with every Gryfinndor that turned up their nose to him.

It was probably only sheer luck that after what seemed like the thousandth attempt Ginny Weasley exited the porthole, in the absence nonetheless of her older brother. The only question was would she want to help the boy whom her brother - and apparently entire house - thought had planned the kidnapped of Hermione Granger?

"Ginny," Draco reached out to grab her arm. She turned around to see who had called, and she looked very confused. Draco explained himself, "Look, I've been standing outside this door for nearly two hours. I could really, really use your help."

Her tone was not harsh or sarcastic, "With what?"

Draco smirked, "You're honestly going to do me a favor? After everything your brother had told you about me?"

"Frankly I don't believe much of what Ron says about you anymore. he's deeply lovesick and therefore a bit mixed up about things. And as for the favor... depends on what it is, Malfoy," she said with a serious face.

"I need you to go in Hermione's dormitory and look closely for anything that might point in me in the right direction," Draco instructed quietly.

Ginny blinked once, "You're actually going to look for her..."

Draco looked at his feet and nodded. Then he added, "And if it makes Weasley feel any better, I'm keeping an eye out for Potter, too."

Ginny's eyes lit up, "Harry? Honestly, Malfoy? You're going to find him?"

Draco had never seen the Weasley girl so... eager, and her wondered why anyone could be excited about Potter. Then something else occured to him...

"You have a thing for Potter."

"I thought everyone knew that. Where have you been?"

"Well, I don't particularly keep tabs on Potter, despite what you've heard," Draco drawled. "Surprisingly enough I've actually been minding my own business."

"Right, right," Ginny smiled. "Okay, Malfoy. You've persuaded me, but if I do this for you, you must promise you'll find Harry and bring him back for me."

She gazed at him until he responded, "I promise, Weasley."

Giny smiled widely and then scampered back through the porthole, leaving Draco to think about the task that lay before him, the task that he had laid before himself. McGonagall, of course was correct - it would not be easy. In fact, it might be one of the hardest things he had ever done, but inevitably it was worth it if he could touch Hermione again, if he could feel her warm breath on his face, her lips on his own. He might even be content if he did happen to run across Potter and prove to his challengers that he was indeed changed. He might even be content then.

He wondered why McGonagall had trusted him with such a heavy burden. When he had entered her office, he had been almost certain that she was going to turn him down, not that it would have stopped him. And although she had been rather reluctant, she had not only granted his request but assigned him another - and in her eyes probably more important - task. If no one else in the school trusted Malfoy, why did McGonagall? And something else was gnawing at him... the thing McGonagall had said had about Draco paying a visit to his father... Did she suspect he was involved in some way? Or perhaps she thought he knew something? Or maybe she somehow knew how much Lucius had been on Draco's mind recently...

He didn't have to time to decide which option was most likely as Ginny appeared from the Common room yet again. In her hadn she held a bloody quill pinned through a scrap of black fabric, something Draco immediately knew wouldn't have the slightest chance of being recognized.

"This is all I could find," Ginny smirked apologetically. "Not very good, I know, but it was all there was."

Malfoy took the quill and looked at it for a moment, trying to find something useful, but there was nothing there, "This is Hermione's, but as for the fabric, it's anyone's guess."

"Sorry, Malfoy," Ginny apologized again.

He sighed, "Thanks for trying anyway..."

She smiled weakly and then looked up at him, "Thanks for doing this, Draco. You have good intention, even if no one else agrees."

Draco was taken aback for a moment but then nodded in reply and turned down the hallway. He went to his bedroom and picked up his wand, and then, quill in hand, he took a deep breath and disappeared.

He reappeared on the front steps of his house, staring blankly into the distorted glass of the front door. Part of him had been dying to see his father while the other part wanted to keep the promise of never returning home. It seemed that personal vow would have to be broken. Worried about what might lie on the other side, Draco opened the front door slowly, not bothering to knock, and stepped inside to the foyer. It was dark despite the afternoon sun outside. The curtain had been drawn and the hung, dead and heavy, over the windows. The floor had a thin layer of dust accumulating and the staircase wasn't any cleaner, and Draco was not surprised. Lucius had probably never cleaned a day in his life.

A faucet was running in the kitchen to Draco's left, and he followed the sound to investigate. Something was cold about the house - cold and empty - as if the sun had never seen the grey walls and colorless floors. The manor had never been this empty even when there was no one home. Never had Draco seen it this downcast, and as he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he became aware that the house wasn't the only thing that was miserable.

His father was standing at the sink, hands on either side of the basin, gazing out the window ahead of him. His grey eyes were soft but void, and the pale light on his face illuminated the tiredness of his features. The water was running over a pile of dishes in the sink and filling the basin with soap suds. Lucius did not hear him come in. Or maybe he did, but he didn't want to.

"Father?" Draco said, his voice almost seeming out of place in the silece of the house.

Draco's voice snapped Lucius out of his reverie, and he tore his eyes from the window. As soon as he saw Draco he looked relieved and rushed towards him, arm extended. Draco's hand was stroking his wand distrustfully, but to his surprise, Lucius embraced him. Had Lucius ever... hugged him before? He didn't think so. Her was sure he would have remembered. Uncertainly, Draco returned the gesture, wrapping his arms across his father's back awkwardly.

"Thank Merlin you're still alive!" Lucius whispered into his ear.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Draco replied, confused.

Lucius pulled back from his son, "Bellatrix... she came by and warned me. I sent you a letter, and I though it was too late... But obviously she hasn't acted yet."

Draco felt the pieces click into place then, almost like someone had connected the dots in this mind. Bellatrix had threatened Draco, but it had not been Draco that she was after. It was Hermione.

"I think she has..." Draco said with a concerned expression.

"What?"

"Hermione... she was kidnapped last night. That's really why I'm here. I thought you might... know something."

Lucius shook his head, "I assure you that I am not behind it, Draco. But Bellatrix was trying to hurt you. She could be using the Granger girl as bait."

Draco was puzzled. Was Lucius attempting to assist him in finding Hermione? After everything that had transpired between them before, Draco highly doubted it. In fact, he was willing to bet that Gragner was right below his feet, in the darkness of the Malfoy's basement, and Lucius was only trying to protect his hostage. Then again, if it was Draco that Bellatrix wanted, why didn't she simply get Lucius to admit Hermione was here and lure Draco to the cellar? It didn't make any sense either way Draco looked at it.

Taking an uneasy look at his father, Draco turned back into the foyer and entered the trapdoor that descended into the basement. He lowered himself into the hole, and immediately felt the dampness in the air. It was pitch black and unbearably silent, and in spite of his thumping heart, Draco unsheathed his wand and whispered, "Lumos."

A tiny orb of light appeared on the tip of his wans and lit the space slightly. Lucius had followed and was standing over the trapdoor, watching as empty. Stunned, Draco spun to look up at his father, having a strong wave of deja vu. Unbelievable...

"You were... teeling the truth..." Draco said in disbelief. "There's no one here."

"You're not going to try and rescue her," Lucius said. It was not a question.

Draco pulled himself back up into the entryway as he replied, "I must. It's the least I can do after all that I have put her though."

"It's what Bellatrix wants..." Lucius argued.

"Good," Draco retorted. "Maybe she will put up an entertaining fight then... I'm rather looking forward to it."

Lucius stepped closer to his son, "Draco, I beg you. What you are doing is suicidal... and all for a mudblood."

Draco did not waver as he spoke, "I would gladly risk my life for Hermione. I would give anything, regardless of the blood that runs in her veins."

"I will not let you kill yourself over this blasted girl!" Lucius bellowed.

"You would have died for mum..." Draco knew he shouldn't have said it, especially when Narcissa had been buried so recently, but it was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Lucius was quiet, and Draco couldn't tell if he was fuming or considering what Draco was saying. Just in case, Draco was prepared to reach for his wand, fingers twitching in the direction of its gnarled handle. Despite the fact that Lucius was curiously helping, Draco doubted that he would appreciate Draco reminding him of Narcissa.

"Don't you dare bring your mother into this Draco," Lucius whispered fiercely.

"But you would have, wouldn't you?" Draco pressed him. "Died for her if you could."

It was obvious that his father didn't want to answer, and Draco knew it was because if he said what he wanted to, he would no longer have a valid arguement. he knew he would have, at one time or another, given his life for Narcissa. thr truth crawled beneath Lucius's lips, intched to escape, but by allowing them to, Lucius knew he would be indirectly accpeting Draco's reckless actions.

Instead he muttered, "This isn't the same, Draco.. Your mother and that filthy mudblood are not the same. I may have given up on Voldemort, but you cannot convince me that such dirty blood should be permitted in our society."

Draco felt that the situation was becoming desperate now and he protested, "I'm not trying to dissuade you from you beliefs! I'm simply trying to make you comprehend that this isn't just a phase, father, not one of those false blinded loves. I love her, and... and I think, if I could I'd like to spend the rest of my life with her."

"Ornery," Lucius mumbled, as he smirked. "Like an ox. Your mother was exactly the same, and I could never make her change her mind. I have an inkling that it will be the same dilemma with you." Lucius luaghed weakly, "No matter what I say, Draco, you will do what you will."

There were a few seconds of dead silence as Lucius scutinized his son, begging him to assist in the rescue of a mudblood girl whom he claimed he loved. It was baffling to imagine themselves in this situation months before when neither one of them desired anything to do with muggles and muggle-borns. But things had changed, and people had changed with them in ways that were unimaginable. In Lucius's experience, it was the omen of war, a sign that a struggle was soon to come. It was always so tense and confusing in the months before war erupted, before everything they knew crumbled, and this was only the beginning. When the time came, no one would be prepared for the weight that it would carry in the coming years. No one.

"You know me better than I thought," Draco smiled, surprised to be doing so in such company.

Lucius did not make eye contact as he replied, "And in that case, I might as well offer my thoughts on the matter so at least you don't wind up dead..." Draco looked at him in shock. "Now, the only place other than here that anyone has the guts to hide anybody is Ollivander's, seeing as it was abandoned when...well... you know."

"Yes, I know. So the wand shop, then."

Draco pulled out his wand to to Apparate, but Lucius grabbed his hand quickly, "No, no, no! You can't simply wander into that maze of a shop and expect to remain alive long enough to make a heroic rescue. Do you know how easy it is to plan an ambush in Ollivander's? there are so many nooks and crannies that you could fit all of Hogsmeade inside! Listen closely; Bellatrix will be waiting in the main room among the labyrinth of shelving, and she will not dare go alone, particularly if she guessed you would stop here first."

"Why is that?" Draco asked.

Lucius shook his head, "Bellatrix and I do not agree on a great number of things, revolving specifically around you mother's death."

the comment ook Draco by surprise, "She believes that it's my fault."

"Yes, yes," Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "But that is beside the point... You will not go to Ollivander's alone. Only a fool would do such a thing, and luckily, Bellatrix takes you as a fool. She won't be expecting more than one opponent."

Draco was unsure about his father's offer. He did not dispute the fact that it would give him a much higher chance of surviving if he brought his father along, but he honestly didn't know how devoted his father would be to the cause. Ultimately, he was only there for protection, and that is all he would be good for, though protection was essential for survival and therefore required in order for Draco to accomplish his goal.

"We should go immediately..." Draco nodded, then more somberly, "Before it's too late."

* * *

Darkness had not yet fallen over Hogsmeade when they Apparated into an alleyway, but the urgency of the situation was more important than the cover the night provided them. Besides, this way, the element of surprise would be on their side; Bellatrix would never expect them to arrive in broad daylight. the streets were bustling, and as long as they stayed in the crowd, they could not be seen from the dusty, boarded windows of Ollivander's. His father turned to him now, standing in between Draco and the lane, holding his shoulder with an unfamiliar somewhat fatherly grip.

"I'm going to go inside first," Lucius instructed him. "She won't be sure what I'm there for and won't identify me as a threat immediately. When she's not anticipating it, I'll pull my wand on her, and then you can come in behind me. Whatever you do, make it quick, and be ready for anything."

Draco nodded when Lucius finished, "When I find Hermione, I am Apparating."

Lucius stared for a moment with hurt eyes, as if by ttaking Hermione to saftey Draco was abandoning his father forever, but then Lucius nodded in affirmation. He spun from Draco into the street, blending with the people of Hogsmeade, but Draco watched the back of his blonde hair as it bobbed among the commoners'. He watched until Lucius disappeared into the abandoned shop, and then he followed, walking at a leisurely pace so as not to arouse suspicion. He leanded against the adjacent building, hooded in black, silver eyes flickering restlessly between the calm faces of the people on the street and the scene that was sure to develop between the slats on the boarded windows.

Lucius was talking to Bellatrix serenely, probably engaging in tactful smalltalk. His father's hand did not betray his violent intentions until it twitched toward his hip in rediness for the moment when he would attack. As Draco watched, he glimpsed Bellatrix's ebony pupils note the edginess in Lucius's fingertips. In less than two seconds, Bellatrix drew her wand and Lucius had his pointed towards her throat. He snarled something, but before Draco could see Bellatrix's reaction, he was darting inside the shop, ready to face whatever he must in order to save Hermione.

The first spell was fired by Lucius, but it was inaccurate, tossing several wand cases off the shelves behind Bellatrix. Bellatrix dashed into an aisle of boxes and Draco took the opportunity to follow, shoes clacking and giving away his position. The shelves surrounded him on all sides, towering endlessly above him like giants and blocking any hope he had for a simple escape. Bellatrix's raspy voice was laughing and echoing eerily through the shop, taunting Draco. He skidded to a halt in the center of a long row of shelves, searching for the twisted lips that were allowing the manic noise, but it was everywhere. Unsteadily, Draco raised his wand and spun in a different direction with each mad giggle. Then as quick as a shadow, she flew past the end of the aisle, untamed black ringlets trailing behind her. Draco instantly went into pursuit, and as he slid out of the aisle, he flung a spell at her as she disappeared into another corridor. He could not curb his momentum before he lost his footing and fell into a shelf cluttered with wand boxes. The boxes dropped and crashed around him, but he ignored them pounding on his shoulders as he scrambled to his feet and continued to race after Bellatrix.

When he entered the aisle Bellatrix had, it was not she that he found but his father. Draco caught his eye, and Lucius mechanically thrust his wand in Draco's direction, only to lower it when he realized who it was.

"She's just there..." Lucius said soudlessly, pointing to the other side of the shelf before them.

Draco was just registering this information when one of the wand boxes began to rattle on the shelf in front of him. He raised his wand with more confidence this time, certain that it was Bellatrix on the opposite side. The box shook until it slipped off the shelf and hit the floor with a thunk. Draco looked up at the hole the box left behind, and he gasped as he saw Bellatrix's big, black eye staring at him. she cackled as a wand rose from it's box and shot towards Draco's chest, but he avoided the pointed tip and took off down the aisle at full speed. More wands followed the first, cutting air behind him like elongated bullets, but they whizzed past him, sinking into the wall ahead of them.

He looked to his left, spotted one of Bellatrix's companions who had heard the racket, and easily stupified him. His thick body flopped heavily on the dusty ground, as Draco kept running, turning quickly to see if the danger behind him had passed. He saw Bellatrix marching towards him, a sick grin flashing on her face, with her wand raised threateningly over her head. Lucius was behind her, emerging from an aisle farther along the hall and sprinting to catch up. Bellatrix must have expect Lucius, as he had not been quiet about his approach, but she didn't acknowledge it when Lucius's arms wrapped around her neck like snakes. He pulled at her neck and tried to drag her backwards, but something else had taken her over, like an animal. She was growling and seething at Draco, and it was in those few seconds that Draco truly came to terms with the fact that Bellatrix would try to kill him no matter what she had to do. Before it had been surreal like all of the events in the past few months, but now it was hard to dismiss while she was baring her teeth at him, barely restrained by his father. This obvious truth was only reassured when another flock of wands swept out of their boxes and soared towards Draco, who stood in shock, taking the entire situation in.

"Draco! Go!" Lucius screamed through the effort he was exerting by strangling Bellatrix.

Snapped from his trance, Draco's eyes widened, and he felt the wind from the wands just before he dove to the floor. He slithered for a few feet and came to an abrupt halt when his head rammed against something hard. Cursing, he opened eyes to see the wands zoom zbove him and crash into the shelf behind him. Things clattered to the ground as he looked to see what he had smacked his head on. It was a handle attached to the floor, which he thought odd until he examined the area around it. There was a trap door neneath him that, according to the lack of dust, had been lifted recently. Glancing up at his father, who was slowly losing his grip on Bellatrix, Draco hesitated. He remembered that he had told Lucius he would abandon him if he found Hermione, but if Bellatrix was coming for anyone, it was solely Draco. If Draco went into the basement, Bellatrix would follow.

"Yes, Draco!" Lucius cried, holding Bellatrix by his mere fingertips now. "Hurry!"

Bellatrix roared, "No!"

But Draco had dropped into the quiet, damp cellar. He could hear her breathing... but there was another sound, another ragged gasping accompanying hers. Could it be...?

"Lumos," Draco muttered.

"Malfoy?"

Draco smirked, secretly glad he had found the git, "Potter."

"Draco!" Hermione smiled, rising from her place on the wall. Chains rattled as she stood, and Draco noticed that her wrists were bound in cuffs and chanined to a peg in the ground. Her face was caked in dried blood from a deep gash above her brow. "You came..."

"Of course," Draco grinned and offered her a light kiss on the lips.

With shaking hands, Draco wispered alohomora on the cuffs' locks, and everyone seemed shocked - including himself - when he did the same for Potter. Potter, however seemed to confused to be shocked, and with creased borws, he rubbed his freed wrists.

"Wait, Malfoy? I don't - "

"We don't have time, Potter!" Draco grumbled. "Just trust me."

Hermione grabbed Draco's arm to Apparate, but before Harry made up his mind, Bellatrix jumped into the hole and powerfully threw the only thing she was willing to give up - Harry's wand. As soon as he saw Bellatrix, Harry clutched Draco's shoulder, but it wasn't fast enough for Draco to avoid the sharp pain in his chest. He cursed loudly and his voice lingered in the musty basement as he disappeared.

He landed grimacing, in too much pain to to scream or move. He could feel the wand shifting with every move he made, and in an attempt to rid his shoulder of the pain, he grabbed the end and twisted it out, gritting his teeth. Blood spurted out almost immediately, staining his blue t-shirt an odd purple color, but he shoved his hand over the wound, crimson leaking between his fingers, and tossed the wand to Harry who caught it in mid-air, "Souvenir, Potter."


	12. Chapter Twelve: Battles

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.**_

**CHAPTER 12 SUMMARY: As Draco is recovering from his injury, things are beginning to stir at Hogwarts. Draco offers his assistance to Harry in order to free himself and Hermione from evil's grasp. But what will happen when tensions run high? How will the students react when a new team of professors is appointed at Hogwarts? As battles arise and the war draws near, sides must be chosen.**

**WARNINGS: Rated T (13+) for strong violence and mild language. THIS STORY CONTAINS SPOILERS!**

**OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction. Please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. If you have any favorite parts or least favorite parts, let me know... Thank you :)**

**Chapter Twelve**

**Battles**

**"Battle is the most magnificent competition in which a human being can indulge. It brings out all that is best; it removes all that is base. All men are afraid in battle. The coward is the one who lets his fear overcome his sense of duty. Duty is the essence of manhood."  
- George S. Patton **

Draco was in a fitful sleep, blonde hair sticking to the sheet of perspiration on his forehead. His upper body was bare and bandaged, a blood stain slowly spreading under the tight gauze on his shoulder. Hermione was glad that it had at least clotted enough that Madame Pomfrey didn't have to check it every five minutes; the absence of the nurse allowed Hermione to talk with Harry, Ron, and Ginny in privacy.

They were gathered on two vacant beds, Hermione and Ginny sitting cross-legged together and facing the two boys opposite them. The conversation thus far had been strained between Ron and Hermione, probably because Ron was feeling rather stupid for ever accusing Draco of kidnapping Hermione, but no apology had been voiced yet. Honestly Hermione wasn't expecting it, and even if Ron did apologize to her and preferably to Draco, how could she know that he wouldn't turn on her again tomorrow as he had done before?

"I still can't believe Malfoy just saved my life," Harry muttered for the thousandth time. "I didn't think he had it in him."

"I didn't either," Ron shook his head and glanced up at Hermione. "What'd you do to get him to do it, Hermione? Did you guys...?"

"Ron!" Ginny stepped in. "Shut up, will you? Of course they didn't…" Then shooting a bewildered look at Hermione she gasped, "You didn't did you?"

"No!" Hermione squealed, brows creased incredulously over her chocolate eyes. "Of course not! I've tried to tell you all along that he is on our side. It hurts me that it took something like this to convince you."

Hermione's concerned pupils turned to the motionless Draco, to his chest heaving and falling gently beneath the thin fabric of the bed sheets, to the bloodstained gauze wrapped tightly around his shoulder. It pained her to see him in such a state. She was so accustomed to being in his strong, unmistakable presence that this was nearly too much to bear. She pulled her eyes away before the tears began to fall.

The other three hadn't noticed her sadness, ignorant as to how deep her emotions really ran for Draco, but she wasn't angry with them. Maybe slightly with Ron… but that wasn't anything new.

"So what of you, Harry?" Ron was saying. "What do you plan to do now?"

The question brought Hermione out of her dark thoughts, all her attention focused on her best friend. She hadn't really considered the idea that Harry would be leaving again, off to finish Voldemort. Now that Ron had mentioned it, it was at the forefront of her mind.

"I've got to find the last horcruxes. There are three left and I – "

"Two!" Hermione thrust two of her fingers into Harry's glasses.

He blinked, "What?"

"There's only two left," Hermione clarified. "You didn't think we'd let you get with all seven did you?"

"You – you destroyed one?" Harry stuttered, mildly surprised. "Which one?"

"Ravenclaw's diadem," Ginny beamed, clutching Harry's hand. "Well Draco and Hermione destroyed it, but Ron, Luna, and I did some research. You're lucky to have such intelligent friends…"

Harry grinned, scratching the back of his scruffy, black hair, "Well, yeah. I'd suppose I am. Blimey…"

There was a silence, and Hermione knew that everyone was wondering the same thing.

"You don't have to leave right away, do you?" Ginny asked, her voice strained with worry. "Not after you just got here."

"I should," Harry sighed. "Time is ticking, you know. The trouble is, though, that I don't know if it's safe, and if anywhere is truly safe, it's here. It's probably better that I wait for things to calm down out there before setting out again."

Though the news was good, though Harry was staying, his words did not comfort Hermione. The truthfulness and fear injected into them was real and justified, and they only reminded her of all the dreadful things happening outside of her protected little bubble. They brought back the knowledge of the evil that lurked past the iron gates of Hogwarts, past the security they provided. She shuddered involuntarily with the thought.

A noise came from behind them, a guttural, throaty noise. But no one turned to look at the source of the sound – which they all knew was Draco. They turned to Hermione, as if they expected her to rush to his aid. They obviously did not understand the way she and Draco were with one another. They were definitely not clingy. Neither one of them liked to be dependent on the other, but they knew that life would be ugly for both of them if they weren't.

Her friends' eyes were making her uncomfortable, however, boring into her with anticipation. She looked over her shoulder and her heart leapt as her eyes met with a pair of silver ones, staring at her with the same eagerness as Ron, Ginny, and Harry. This set of eyes, though, she could not ignore, could not scoff at, even if she had wanted to. They were the eyes of the boy who had risked his life for her, to save her from the evils that he had lived with his entire life. They were the eyes of her love - her real, true love – and those sorts of eyes can hold you under an inexplicable spell forever.

A tear escaped her eye as she quickly sprung to her feet and hurried to the side of his bed. She slipped her hand over his hand under the bed sheets, "How is it?"

Draco's free hand shot up to his right shoulder, shrugging it in circles just to show her that it was getting better, "It's a bit sore, but it could be worse."

"Exactly," Hermione replied, slightly upset. "Exactly, Draco. It _could _be worse because you _could _be _dead_! You could be gone, and I could be here! Alone!"

Her tears were falling freely now, thumping quietly on the mattress with no rhythm. For a cluster of moments, the only sounds in the room were the falling of her teardrops and her frantic gasps between sobs. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had left, hurried out to give her and Draco some privacy, and so they were alone together. Hermione was bawling and Draco was gazing at her with a sweetness that was nearly painful. He smiled with tired eyes and let a quick puff of air through his nose and looked rather amused. That bothered Hermione, but she was crying too hard to say anything about it.

"Hermione…" Draco whispered, half-smiling. He pulled her closer, letting her rest on the sliver of mattress next to him, close enough to hear her heartbeat. "Don't be afraid of that. I'm here with you now. Whatever risk I took was clearly a risk worth taking if it means that I don't lose you."

"You're mad, Draco Malfoy," Hermione murmured when suddenly her lips were lost in his. "Completely mental…" His hand found its way to the bend of her back. "And selfish…"

"Hm," Draco said between kisses, "very selfish."

Her hands were wrapped about his neck, fingers tugging at his hair, "Yes, I'm glad… that you agree…"

Draco's chest tensed unexpectedly, "Granger. Shoulder."

"Sorry," she said, realizing that her palm had snaked to his wound without her knowing it. She pulled her face away from his, "I'm sorry."

Their eyes met for a very long moment before Hermione's head fell limply against Draco's chest. And in the moments that followed, she listened to his steady breathing and it was such a reassuring sound that she almost didn't want to interrupt it to say what was on her mind. She did, nevertheless.

"Thank you, Draco," she muttered, speaking softly enough that she could still hear his lungs filling and emptying.

"For what?" he smiled. "Snogging you or saving your life?"

Hermione laughed, "Both I suppose, but mostly for saving my life… and Harry's. Even though it was reckless… thank you."

"Potter…" Draco mulled. "I want to talk to that git…"

Hermione pulled herself onto one elbow, the other arm thrown over Draco's torso. She looked perplexed – and perhaps a little worried, "You do?"

"Yes, Granger…" Draco nodded, as if his motive was utterly apparent. "I'm not going to murder him."

Hermione only nodded uncertainly as she rose from the bed and went into the hall. Harry, Ginny, and Ron were there, just standing and looking at each other. Judging by the looks on their faces, Hermione figured they were either still processing the idea that Draco Malfoy might not be as bad they thought, or they had just stopped talking about what a lunatic she was when they heard the door of the infirmary open. Either way, all eyes flickered to her as the thick door closed behind her with a deafening bang.

She looked at Harry, "Draco wants to talk to you."

Harry seemed taken aback, glancing nervously at Ginny and then Ron. But he hesitated for only a moment before nodding and moving past his friend back into the infirmary. He wasn't necessarily scared about what Draco wanted. He didn't think Draco had done any of his good deeds with any sort of evil agenda, and even if he had, he wouldn't be able to do much to Harry when his dominant shoulder was ripped through. Above anything else, he was anxious about what it would be like to have a conversation with Malfoy that wasn't sarcastic or spiteful. It had never happened before, and he wasn't sure exactly what to say.

Draco raised his head from his pillow as Harry lingered in the doorway, hands passively at his side. When Harry made no move towards him, Draco laughed, "Are you going to stand there all day, Potter? Merlin, despite the stereotype, Gryffindors are the most fearful lot here."

Harry half-smiled, not sure whether to take it as an attempt at humor or an insult. Sarcasm, at least, was not something that Hermione had managed to break him of. Harry approached Draco's bedside, still standing at least three feet away. He remained awkward and cautious even though Draco had teased him for it. He couldn't afford to take any unneeded risks.

"What'd you want to say?" Harry said, eyeing Malfoy suspiciously.

Draco saw Harry's hand slip into the pocket of his jeans, where his wand was protruding, but he ignored it, "Where are you going next?"

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" Harry narrowed his eyes, unable to trust Malfoy fully yet.

"Well contrary to popular belief, I _do_ happen to have feelings, and I _do _care about what's going on out there in the real world," Draco replied snappishly, "So tell me."

Harry's hand left his pocket, bringing down his defenses, "Fine, but tell me something first." Harry waited for Malfoy to nod before continuing, "Hermione told me everything that's happened. I know that you care for her. Anyone with eyes can see that… But why? Why Hermione?"

Draco gazed at Harry, a look in his eyes that was half-annoyed and half-pained, "Why do you love Ginny?"

"I… well because she sees me in a way that no one else does, for who I really am past all the Chosen One rubbish and everything that's happened to me," Harry explained.

"And Hermione sees me as I truly am, even when she knows all the sin I've committed," Draco sighed, feeling vulnerable. "It might sound stupid, Potter, but she was there for me at a time when no one else was. So how could I give up on her?"

Draco took another deep breath, knowing in his heart that every word he spoke was true. Harry, slightly surprised by Draco's bluntness, only nodded. Uncertain of how to respond, he smoothly changed the subject, "I'm going in search on Hufflepuff's goblet. I think Bellatrix Lestrange might have had it last."

Draco sat up completely, not even bothering to wince as a pain struck his shoulder, "I'm coming along then."

"What?", was the only word Harry could gather. It was becoming a common word with him since he had returned; everything was wildly upside down.

"Look, Potter," Draco said, eyes dancing with the idea of adventure. "Bellatrix is my aunt. If anyone has the ability to rummage through her belongings, it's me. So I'm coming along."

The last five words were very solid, very sure. Harry knew Draco was serious about joining him, and moreover, he knew Draco was right. The presence and cooperation of someone knowledgeable of both the Death Eaters and the Order would be invaluable. Draco might not know much of the Order, but he knew the most important detail about it – its cause. And after witnessing its opposition first-hand, he'd be more than willing to contribute what he could.

"What about Hermione?" Harry asked. "She'll be livid that you're setting off again."

"Excellent point, Potter. She nearly stabbed me a moment ago," Draco chuckled. Then, becoming serious, he said, "But she will simply have to deal with it. I'm doing it for her benefit. The sooner Voldemort falls, the sooner our problems are over… the sooner _my_ problems are over. So what is your brilliant plan?"

Harry opened his mouth to reply when Madame Pomfrey came bustling in, arms wrapped around some skinny first year that looked ready to vomit all over the pristine marble floor. Harry's mouth snapped shut as he glanced over his shoulder at them.

Then, turning back to Draco, he whispered, "We'll talk in the morning. You need rest."

And with that, he was gone.

Draco woke the next morning to the sound of light rain on the decorative windows of his bedroom. Someone must have moved him there during the night, though he vaguely recalled it. He looked about. He could not be certain of the time for the dreary sky outside, but it must have been too early for anyone to be awake. The corridor outside was dead, no sound reaching him, and he was alone. Slowly, trying to avoid upsetting his shoulder, he sat up in his bed and gently slid to the floor. He shuffled to the only mirror in the room, gradually like an old codger. He was sore and exhausted from the previous day's events. Reluctantly, he studied his reflection.

His arm was wrapped in a cloth sling, dangling just below his chest. His hair was a complete mess, and his eyes were bloodshot and tired. He gingerly reached to his back, where a small metal clip held his sling in place, and pinched the clasp. The cloth came loose from his arm, unwrapping itself to reveal the wound underneath. It was swollen and red, the hole in his shoulder deep enough to wonder if it in fact ever ended. The diameter of the puncture was large enough that if Draco had been mental, he could have easily fit his thumb inside. He thought it would leave a nasty scar.

And maybe having it leave a scar wasn't such an awful thing. Of course, it would remind him of the pain and suffering he went through his seventh year at Hogwarts, but it would also remind him why he suffered so much. He figured he would be rather proud when it melted into nothing more than damaged skin.

A quiet knock broke his contemplation. He tore his eyes from the mirror and, wondering who would be visiting him at this hour, opened the door. It was Harry Potter, of all people.

"Sorry, Malfoy, about the time," Potter apologized quickly, as if he was trying to make sure he did before Draco could gripe about it.

Draco closed the door behind him, "It's alright. I don't know what time it is myself…" He paused, "What is you want it then?"

"Well, I assumed now was as good of a time as any to come talk to you about my plans… No one will be awake to interrupt us I suppose…" Harry rambled, looking rather uncomfortable.

"Right…" Draco agreed.

Harry coughed awkwardly, "Erm… well. Firstly, I should probably tell you that I'm not absolutely certain that Hufflepuff's cup is in your aunt's vault. Frankly, I'm running blind in the dark, but I just have this feeling. You should have seen her when she saw we had Gryffindor's sword."

Harry looked at Draco tentatively.

Draco laughed, "You're not scaring me off just yet, Potter."

Harry didn't crack a smile, and Draco's soon faded.

"Originally I had planned to go in disguise, but now that you are coming along, the plan has become much easier," Harry explained, getting more eager with every word. "We will leave in a few days. You go as yourself, get into the vault, and get the cup. Easy…"

Draco raised one blonde eyebrow, "Wait a moment… That's your plan? Merlin, Potter. I thought you were supposed to be brilliant at this."

"What is wrong with the plan?" Harry asked, thoroughly offended.

Draco cupped his hand over his left temple and sighed, "You obviously came up with it just before you walked in the door."

"Perhaps, but I worked very hard on it then, too…" Harry replied, only half-joking. "What would you propose we do?"

"I think I should go as myself, get into the vault, and get the cup," Draco smirked. Harry gave him a look of befuddlement, and then Draco added, "I just like the look on your face when you're annoyed, Potter."

He patted Harry on the back and disappeared into his bathroom.

Remus Lupin stood still while his wife straightened his tie. Chin up, he gazed down upon her, "Dora, I've battled unspeakable things in my darkest nights. But this class frightens me more than I frighten myself."

Tonks completed the final loop in his tie and patted his chest, "You'll do just fine, Remus. I'm here to back you up in case you begin to lose your grip, eh? You'll do just fine, dear."

Remus nodded. When McGonagall had approached him and Dora with the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, they had been quite hesitant to accept. With his condition and Dora's pregnancy, they had been unsure whether they were fit for the job, but McGonagall had thought things through. With Remus's condition, he would be unable to teach all the time, and due to her pregnancy, it might be uncomfortable for Nymphadora to be on her feet for long. Inevitably McGonagall had come to the thoughtful conclusion that the two of them should teach the class as a team. Of course, both of them would have rather been assisting with the Order, but now they had a family to consider, a child they could not bear to abandon. Thus, Hogwarts was the second best place for the couple to be, especially since Harry was here. That is what McGonagall had told them the previous night anyway.

Remus glanced at his pocket watch and took a deep breath, "It's nearly time."

And as if those words had activated it, the bell rang. Noise sputtered in the hallway, feet and voices echoing off the high ceiling. Students filed slowly in, taking their seats one by one. Some of them smiled at Remus, perhaps recognizing him from their third year, but a few of them gave him looks of bitter discontent. Most of the latter were Slytherins.

Draco Malfoy sat in the back, neglected and ignored, which didn't bother him a bit. After a few weeks of mocking and teasing, the Slytherins had given up on trying to erode Draco's poise. They had discovered that he was imperturbable in every fashion, and he intended to keep it that way. That is, he _had _intended to keep it that way, but given the recent events, the Slytherins had found a new sore spot to probe – Hermione.

Had they known how serious Draco was about her, they might not have opened their mouths. However, Blaise Zabini never was one to follow directions properly. Draco should know; he'd attempted to order him around before.

The class had a rocky start. Remus Lupin – the werewolf from their third year - was taking Carrow's position, something that did not sit well with many people in the room. So, to begin the lesson, everyone was already a little unhappy – to put it softly.

Remus coughed. Draco almost felt sorry for him, as the class continued to speak over him. Draco sat with his head in his hands, unsure whether to pay attention or toss some hexes at the selfish gits. He wisely chose the former.

Remus raised his wand and growled, "Silence!"

The room died. Something in his voice – perhaps the animal – was much more intimidating than the class had anticipated. Lupin remained in control as he strode to his desk and lay a hand upon it, "As most of you know, your previous professor was unfortunately greeted with an untimely death, and so you all now have the complete misfortune of having me in his place. However, I can assure you that anything you learned in said professor's class is totally irrelevant, and we will be starting fresh with my own curriculum…"

"Does your curriculum have anything to do with us learning to duel werewolves?" Blaise Zabini taunted from the front of the class. "I think we would become very effective in that particular skill. That is of course if you taught us…"

Remus ignored the low blow, letting it roll off his back easily – so easily in fact that Blaise felt as if he hadn't made an effect at all. He turned to his classmates and laughed, white teeth glimmering like fangs in the bright morning light crashing in through the windows. Draco frowned. Blaise had obviously reclaimed the tribe since Draco had dropped out of the picture, and as far as Draco was concerned, he could have the tribe. The only thing Draco cared about was keeping the Slytherin fear of him alive. The longer he watched Blaise patronize Lupin, the more his blood boiled. He didn't know Lupin or his wife, but he knew that they were in the Order. And as far as he was concerned, anyone in the Order should be treated with respect. Thinking this, he scowled at the back of Blaise's head and fumed silently.

At the sound of his peers' laughter, Blaise raised his voice, "I don't know though. You don't look all that tough to me…"

"Well, Blaise, past your oversized mouth and your empty threats, you aren't really as tough as you'd like people to think either..."

All faces swiveled in Draco's direction, to the back, where he refused to look at anyone but Blaise. Blaise's dark, beady eyes snapped to Draco rapidly, looking quite shocked.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Draco Malfoy risen from the dead," Blaise mocked, raising his arms at his sides and looking about as if wondering where Draco came from. He began approaching Draco. A grimace was spread on his face, "Fancy that you should be correcting me when you're the one wasting time rescuing Hermione Granger."

Draco's gaze shifted behind Blaise to Lupin, who looked prepared for the worst. Draco ignored his worried expression, "What's she to you, Blaise?"

Blaise laughed, a cold and heartless laugh, "Nothing, which is what she should also be to you. And everyone else in this room." He yelled the last part loudly, frightening anyone who felt that he was wrong, but Draco – as usual – was unruffled. Blaise continued, feet from Draco now, "You walk these halls like you've still got some sort of power over Slytherin house, like you can play both sides. Truth is Malfoy, you made up your mind months ago. You –" his finger came hard into Draco's chest "– are nothing. And neither is your mudblood whore."

That was it. In a flash, Draco's fist pounded into Blaise Zabini's face with a loud crunch. People standing close enough began backing away. Draco's shoulder stung badly with the force of the stroke, but he was so blinded with anger he didn't feel it at all. Blaise hit back, but he was dazed. The punch was weak, and Draco batted his fist away easily. Again, Draco reared back his fist, this time coming under Blaise's chin in an uppercut. The shot landed squarely on the bottom of Blaise's jaw, and Blaise's neck snapped back. He was stunned once more, unfocused, and Draco took his opportunity. He shoved Blaise against the wall, against the shelving. Things crashed to the floor, breaking loudly, but Draco barely heard them. His fists were beating relentlessly against Blaise's head, and his knuckles were stinging from the impact. The wound on his shoulder had split open and was bleeding again; he could feel the warm dampness seeping under his robes. But he didn't care. He wanted to shut Blaise up, wanted to shut everyone up, and he had decided this was the only way to do it.

Blaise must have surrendered long before Remus Lupin appeared. Only moments had passed since Draco had tossed the first punch, but it had felt like much longer. Remus had immediately come between them, wand at the ready. If Draco had been thinking clearly, he might have used his wand during the fight, but what fun was that if he could outfight Blaise with his bare hands? Besides, traditional fighting was much more satisfying.

The fighting had stopped. Draco was panting, a bit bruised, and his shoulder was burning like fire. The blood trickled over his wrist and twisted about his fingertips. Drops pattered onto the floor. Blaise, however, was infinitely more damaged. His lips were bloodied, and there was a gash under his left eyebrow that was spilling blood into his eye. He looked like he might fall unconscious at any moment. The sight of him made Draco feel as if he had accomplished something; no one could look at Blaise and claim that Draco had lost. As the two boys stood staring at one another, Lupin stood between them with his arms outstretched, head snapping back and forth between them. If Blaise had thought Lupin was feeble before, the expression on Lupin's face would have changed his mind in an instant.

"Are you two completely mad?" Lupin was bellowing, red in the face. "You're a disgrace to your houses and this school! Fifty points from Slytherin for each of you! Zabini, go with Tonks." His voice became softer as he turned to his wife, "Dora, take him to the infirmary." His gaze became furious once again, turning it on Draco, "As for you, Malfoy. You'll be serving detention with me tonight after dinner! Now every single one of you sit down, and don't dare look up from your books unless it is to look at the lengthy assignment I'll be giving you!"

No one said a word and did exactly as they were told.

By lunch hour, the knowledge that Draco had saved Hermione Granger's life was the talk of Hogwarts. Draco couldn't begin to count that amount of people – student and teacher alike – that had approached him to congratulate him, or to thank him, or – if they were from Slytherin – to mock him. Although the recognition was nice, Draco would have preferred that he be left alone. It wasn't like he had done anything that he was afraid of doing or that he hadn't needed to do. He had _needed_ to rescue Hermione; anyone would have done it given his position. Draco was overwhelmed with gladness at the fact that McGonagall ordered that Harry's presence be kept secret. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to step out of his dormitory without either getting beaten up or showered with rose petals.

Everyone also happened to know that Draco had beaten the life out of Blaise Zabini in first period, though no one had come to congratulate him about that. He assumed that sending someone to the infirmary wasn't something that people felt comfortable celebrating publicly. He was fairly positive, however, that half of the Slytherins and most of the rest of the school did not particularly miss his absence.

Currently Draco was sitting with Hermione, hand twisted up with hers under the thick, wooden tabletop. Ron and Ginny were sitting across from them, watching them but watching them differently than they usually did. Their eyes were softer, more accepting, as if all they had required to trust him was a life-threatening feat to concretely back up his claims. They were also a bit wearier. He had always heard, of course, that actions spoke louder than words; he supposed he was a testament to that statement. Ginny had nearly smothered him with hugs this morning when he was waiting for Hermione outside the Gryffindor common room, marking the first time he had ever embraced a Weasley. It seemed that her love for Harry rivaled Draco's love for Hermione, and she wouldn't soon forget what Draco had done. In fact, now that Draco thought about it, Ginny was probably one of the people that had been spreading the news of the rescue.

"How's your… thing?" Ron said suddenly, waving a hand in the direction of Draco's shoulder.

Draco blinked, slightly annoyed, but he knew Ron was only trying to make conversation. He said, "Can't move it properly just yet, but it's better."

Ron nodded, satisfied with the answer, "That's good. You know there's blood all over your arm, right?"

Draco looked at his hand, still bloody from that morning, "Yes, well."

"'Yes well' nothing, Malfoy. I heard you had a pretty wicked scrap with Blaise Zabini this morning… I'd be willing to bet you split your scar," Ginny narrowed her green eyes.

Hermione went rigid, "You got in a fight?" She groaned. "The first time I miss first period and you get in a fight…"

Draco gave an urgent glance to Ginny and then said, "Yeah, but it was nothing. And where exactly were you this morning?"

"I went to talk to McGonagall…" Hermione mumbled, looking down at her plate.

Draco squinted at her bowed head, convinced that there was more to the story, but he didn't say anything. Ginny still could not shut up about the fight.

"Nothing?" Ginny added. "Merlin, Malfoy. You put him in the infirmary… If that's nothing then I'm not a Weasley."

"In the infirmary?" Hermione gasped. "Draco! What were you thinking?"

"Aw, c'mon Hermione. Lay off him," Ron grumbled. "That Zabini git probably deserved it anyway."

Hermione looked at Ron incredulously, "Ronald Weasley! I can't believe you are condoning this sort of irrational behavior!"

"He called you a mudblood whore…" Draco said frankly, looking to Hermione.

Hermione's curls bounced as her head snapped in Draco direction. She coughed meekly, "Does the infirmary have visiting hours?"

"Not any for you, Granger," Draco laughed. "You'd probably poison his medicine."

Hermione raised a finger, "Um… I have much worse than that up my sleeve, Malfoy. You must remember that you used to be the recipient of my inner cruelty."

"Ah… yes," Draco smiled. Then he changed the subject, "Have any of you talked to Potter?"

"A bit…" Ron replied. "He didn't say much though. S'pose he's tired…"

Ginny piped up, all smiles now that Harry was back, "I spoke to him! He was talking about the goblet of Hufflepuff. That's what he's after next. He refused to tell me where it was though… You know Harry. He probably doesn't want us to come along."

"Hm…" Draco hummed, giving an upwards nod in acknowledgement.

"Have _you_ talked to him, Malfoy?" Ron said, eyeing Draco suspiciously.

Draco shook his head and told a white lie through his teeth, "Probably not any more than you have. You're the best friends, not me, remember."

Ron laughed, "Right…"

Hermione, who had remained very quiet throughout the entire meal finally spoke, "Well, if I discover where Harry is going, I'm following him there. I'm tired of leaving him to go fight alone…"

Draco lowered his head, staring down into his empty plate. Harry was right; when Hermione found out that he had taken off with Harry, she would be fit to be tied – or more like fit to tie him to a noose and hang him. She wouldn't be angry because Draco was going to risk himself again, though that was a major factor. No, she would irate because of the fact that he hadn't bothered to ask her to come along.

He glanced up at her, met her eyes and smiled, but he could not hold her gaze for long. She was perceptive enough that she could glimpse the lie in them as soon as he let his guard slip. His pupils darted quickly to his plate once again. After a handful of moments, Draco could not contain his internal guilt any longer, and he rose from his seat, muttering an excuse. Eyes down, he slipped out the doors to the entrance hall.

Hermione could not stop worrying about Draco. Every second, he was the only thing on her mind, the only thing that she fretted over. She didn't know why; it wasn't as if he was in any immediate danger. Something that might have attributed to her weariness, however, was Draco's sudden secretiveness and interest in Harry. For one thing, Draco _never _hid things from her and in spite of her love for Harry and Draco, she knew them both too well to think that they weren't plotting. Though it wasn't something she had considered before, Harry's willfulness coupled with Draco's cleverness was volatile. Whatever trouble they were concocting was mad and dangerous enough that Draco felt compelled to hide it from Hermione. She supposed that is what she was most concerned over.

Draco was hovering outside the Charms classroom when the bell rang. He watched the students file out of the room patiently, as he waited on Hermione. It was a few moments before she appeared, naturally the last pupil out of the class. She glanced up at him as she passed by.

Meeting his gaze, she whispered, "I need to talk to you."

Immediately, Draco knew what it was about; he knew she was too observant to have overlooked it. Despite the fact that Draco had only been to see Harry once, he had to admit that he had been openly distracted since Harry had returned. Because of that, combined with his periodic questions of Harry, it did not surprise him much that Hermione had put two and two together.

She grabbed his hand and led him to a small alcove farther down the corridor. Unlike the previous time they had been together in a nook such as this one, Hermione was not crying. But she was quite angry.

"What are you and Harry up to?" she demanded, fingers digging into his wrist.

He twisted his wrist free and rubbed the red indentions her nails left behind, "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"Yes, Draco," Hermione said through clenched teeth. "You do."

"What makes you think that I'm talking to Potter?" Draco asked, slightly fearful.

Hermione stomped her foot against the stone floor, "That's what I talked to McGonagall about this morning! You've been asking so many questions that I knew there was something going on! She said that Harry told her you two had been talking about leaving!" She paused to catch her breath. "Tell me that you're not leaving, Draco."

"Hermione…" Draco tried to make her understand. "I don't have a choice. Potter won't take anyone else with him. He cares too much about all of you, and besides, if he wants to make it out alive, he's going to need me."

Hermione didn't know what to say, so for a long time, she didn't say anything, just stood there gazing at him. She did look angry anymore; she looked heartbroken. She looked like someone had reached into her soul and wrenched it apart. Tears balanced on her bottom eyelid as more rolled in.

"Draco," she sniffed. "You don't understand. I want you to help Harry, I do, but you're going to have to survive. You have to survive for me, Draco. I'm not telling you to abandon Harry if you feel like you need to go with him. But please, please, please don't die trying. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for letting you go. Do you understand?"

Draco didn't say a word. He wrapped his arms around her neck and pulled her close to him, twisting her hair in his hands. She was shaking, maybe with fear and maybe with anger. He knew that she was scared for him, scared of losing him, and terrified of being alone. He was afraid of that, too. Every morning when he woke up he was horrified that there would be a Death Eater leaning over his bed with a wand at his throat. Every night when he went to sleep he prayed that he would wake up alive the next morning. Hermione failed to comprehend the sheer terror that Draco experienced day to day, and she could never do so. There wasn't a moment that he didn't live in fear, and there never would be until Voldemort was brought to his death. That is what drove him to help Harry.

"I'll come back, Granger," Draco whispered. "I always do."

Dusk was settling outside, bathing the grounds of Hogwarts in a rusty orange glow. Students were full and happy as they dispersed from the Great Hall, completely oblivious to the dark world rushing about outside their precious protection. Draco envied their ignorance. If only he could be so lucky to go through life as unaware as those around him; life would be infinitely simpler. He stuck his hands deep in the pockets of his robes as he trudged to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Office for detention with Lupin. The thought of what Lupin might make him do to pass the time made Draco shiver with dread. He didn't think Remus would take lightly the fact that - although Draco had stood up for him - he had blown up his entire class on his first day.

He turned a corner and came upon Lupin's office door. Tentatively he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Remus Lupin was inside at his desk, looking quite stone-faced as he sifted through the numerous papers piled before him. He glanced up briefly as Draco shut the door softly behind him.

"You can have a seat there," Lupin mumbled, bringing his eyes up from the documents to gesture at the seat across from him.

Draco couldn't decide if Lupin was bored or annoyed, and he was quickly discovering that the professor was nearly impossible to read. Draco did as he requested, however, placing himself in the old, cushioned chair. He folded his hands awkwardly in his lap and looked around the room. It was rather small and a bit crowded with all the odds and ends scattered about. Draco noticed a cabinet of Wolfsbane behind Lupin's desk, but he didn't allow his eyes to linger on it for too long. Lupin was watching him.

"So you know why you're here then…" he said, pulling Draco's eyes to him.

Draco scratched his head, "I s'pose it's because I sent Blaise to the infirmary?"

To Draco's shock, Remus Lupin laughed, "Well, yes. I'd expect that is one of the reasons. You also provided quite a distraction. So much so, in fact, that I could not give a lesson and assigned enough homework to last everyone in the class a month or two."

Draco shifted uneasily in his chair.

"However, that is what the teacher in me has to say about it," Remus added. "Personally, I think that you were quite valiant, standing up to that bloke the way you did. The git right well deserved it." He laughed, and Draco relaxed a bit. Remus continued, "That being said, the real reason I wanted you to be with me this evening was to talk to you about Harry."

"Yes, he seems to be a prevalent topic today…" Draco sighed.

Remus smiled, "McGonagall told that me you are going with him to Gringott's."

Nodding, Draco replied, "That's right."

"Ah, good. In that case, I've decided to give you this…"

Remus reached under his desk and removed an instrument that Draco had never seen before. It was small and rectangular, and on the front, it had a screen with a thin red dial. Lupin placed it on the desk in front of Draco.

"What exactly is this, Professor?" Draco wondered aloud.

"It's a Disenchantment Device," Remus explained, as if it was something people saw every day. "Let's say that you happen upon the horcrux, or something you think might be the horcrux. My guess is that you aunt was smart and put a protective spell on it. What she doesn't know is you can simply take this instrument out of your pocket and it will reveal any enchanted objects in the room. The higher the dial, the closer you are to the spell."

"Wow…" Draco said, taking the device and turning it over in his hand. "I have a feeling we might need this. You're right. Bellatrix wouldn't have left a horcrux unprotected. Thanks, Professor."

Remus smiled lopsidedly, "You're welcome, Malfoy. Now if that's all, I believe you are free to go. The punishment was rigorous, I am aware, but hopefully you can return to your dormitory without trouble?"

Draco smiled and then hesitated, a question lying heavy on his tongue. It had been stirring in his mind since Harry had returned, and maybe even before then. But before now he hadn't realized how impending it was.

"Professor," he coughed, "the war is nearing, isn't it?"

Remus's eyes went somber. Draco saw them shift emotions in an instant, like the darkness just after the sun has set in the evening, "Draco, m'boy, war is a tricky beast. It's always there, hiding in the undergrowth of human doubt and denial, but people ignore it or are otherwise ignorant of it until it becomes quite apparent that they are going to be required to fight or die. In the end, most of them remain incredulous to the idea of battle, and some pretend still that it does not exist. But the people who believe in it and fight for what they stand for are the people that are remembered when the battle is over. In short, my friend, to say that the war is nearing would be complacency in believing that war is a thing that begins and ends, when in fact, war is happening all the time with no definite start or finish. Brace yourself, m'boy, for the war has already begun."

A sick feeling rolled in the pit of Draco's stomach, a feeling of dread and utter despair. Remus's words echoed in his head while his shoes clicked quickly as he rushed up the steps toward his dormitory. _The war has already begun… _He straightened his collar nervously. He wasn't sure if he was crazy or overtired, but he felt like he needed to talk to Harry. He felt that they needed to leave. Now. It was a completely mad thought, brought on partially by Remus's burning words. But something else was urging him forward, a deep-set intuition that tugged at his body to act. The Dark Mark on his forearm tingled strangely. Until now, he had almost forgotten about it entirely, but there it was, prickling like static electricity. He didn't have an explanation for any of it. He simply knew. He knew that if they didn't leave immediately, they would both be killed, and even now as Draco hurried to the dormitories, he felt that it might have been too late.

Less than a minute later, he was banging on Harry's door with a tense urgency. Even his own knocking made him nervous; the way his knuckles cracked against the wood was so desperate. Harry answered almost immediately, a concerned expression on his face. At the sight of Draco, he poked his head out of the door and shot a glance up and down the hallway. Then he quickly ushered Draco inside.

"What is it?"

Apparently this was the phrase they used to greet each other now.

"We need to go. We need to go now."

Harry looked puzzled, which didn't surprise Draco much; he was quite puzzled himself.

"What makes you say that?"

"I don't know exactly," Draco explained, trying to make Harry understand. "Just trust me, Potter. If we don't leave soon, we'll never make it."

Harry stared at Draco for a moment, and Draco could see him planning their attack. His eyes were serious and deep in thought. But he was trusting Draco's intuition, which took Draco slightly aback. Draco's heart was beating unnaturally fast, for he knew deep in his gut that whatever answer Harry offered would determine whether they lived or died, and every second they wasted was one second more that they would suffer. Draco was wretchedly sure of it.

Finally Harry nodded, "Alright. We'll leave as soon as I can gather my things."


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Plans

Chapter 13

It was dark when Draco and Harry peered across the street at Gringott's Wizarding Bank. The interior lights twinkled through the large windows of the towering building. People lingered inside, though few as it was nearing time for the bank to close.

Everything was in place already. Harry would watch carefully beneath the invisibility cloak across the emptying street as Draco entered to get into his aunt's vault. The plan, in theory, was painstakingly simple, but Draco did not anticipate a smooth execution. In his experience if it could go wrong, it would.

With a deep breath, Draco glanced into the humming crowd of pedestrians and the next moment, he was among them, head down and pressing his way across the street. As he came to the enormous front doors, they flew open, and Draco jumped back to avoid being struck by the weighty wood. A heavyset woman emerged, adjusting a cumbersome package on her hip. Draco's head whipped around to Harry who, at the sight of Draco's face, pulled the cloak about him. It was as if he had never been there at all.

The air with the building was cool. The lack of people caused Draco to feel awkward as he approached the desk of the nearest goblin. The creature looked up when he saw Draco. He removed his spectacled, "Welcome to Gringott's Wizarding Bank. How can I help you?"

Draco was inexplicably nervous, "My aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, wanted me to retrieve a package for her." It sounded like a question rather than a statement.

The goblin nodded and then heaved a box full of files onto his desk. The lamp upon it shook with the force of the impact. He began perusing through the papers until he finally extracted one. He gazed at it thoughtfully. Then his pensiveness turned to confusion and he fixed his eyes on Draco.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?" he queried.

Draco nodded, anxiety flapping its powerful wings inside of him.

"I'm sorry, but she cancelled her account with us. She cleaned her vault out… hmm…" he squinted at the paper again, "looks like three days ago."

Draco's heart dropped, "But that's – are you sure?"

"We don't make mistakes, sir…" the goblin replied, replacing his glasses.

"Right…" Draco nodded. "Um… thanks anyway."

Still appearing perplexed, the goblin answered, "Good evening, sir."

Two goblins hurried the bank's doors closed behind Draco as he once again found himself on the streets of Diagon Alley. He cursed quietly to himself, thoughts reeling. He had not time to mull, however, before something came at him from the side, a person. He was flung forcefully against the wall of the building, struggling to regain his defenses. He cursed again, loudly, and convinced himself that Harry would see the assault and come to his aid. The man's muscular arm was braced firmly across Draco's throat, thwarting all hope of escape. Draco felt the hot rush of rancid breath sweeping across his face, and he crinkled his nose.

"Well, well, well," crooned the man. "What do we have here?" The man raised his wand to Draco's chin, to which Draco snarled. He moved his eyes to look up and down the street, but there was no one. "Your auntie said you might be sneaking around here. What are you up to, eh? What is it?"

Draco squirmed again, trying to concentrate, reaching desperately for his wand in his back pocket. His fingers caught the handle with incomprehensible relief, but as he began to remove the weapon, the man became impatient and shook Draco once violently. He lost his grip and the wand slipped from his jeans and rolled across the stony street. A cry of panic wavered behind his lips, but he could not give himself away. If the man found his wand, he would confiscate it with no questions or intention of giving it back. Moreover, the longer the man thought Draco was armed, the better Draco's chances were of getting out of this situation alive.

"You shouldn't stick your ugly mug where it doesn't belong, Malfoy," the thug hissed. "I was ordered to ensure that you don't. Do you understand what I'm saying, bugger?"

Draco turned his head so that his profile was facing the unpleasant man. And as he did this, his eyes flickered by coincidence to his wand which had landed about two yards away from him. Astonishingly, it appeared to be moving, rocking subtly back and forth on a jagged stone in the path. Draco initially believed that it was the wind or some other common phenomenon, but moments later the wand began to hover. Draco knew then what was happening. He grinned.

The thug scowled at Draco's sudden smile, "Oye, you _are_ a sharp little bloke, aren't you? I don't think your aunt will be missing you…"

The man took a deep breath, the breath that might have ended Draco's life, but just as the words were ready to part from his lips, the man's grip on Draco faltered. His large, foul body fell limply onto the road. Draco sidestepped him and massaged his neck.

"Thanks Potter," he choked.

Harry removed the invisibility cloak and appeared before Draco, "Call us even, then. Come on. We have to get out of here. Bring the gob –" He gawked at Draco's empty hands, and spun around, looking for the object. "Where's the goblet, Malfoy?"

Draco wagged his head, "If it was in there, it's gone now."

"What?" Harry said, pulling Malfoy into the shaded safety of the alleyway.

"She cleaned out her entire vault. There's nothing left," Draco explained.

Harry sighed through his nostrils and rubbed his tired face, "She was expecting us then. All the more reason to stay on her trail… Well, she's your aunt. Where would she hide it?"

Draco laughed in surprise, "Just because she's my relative, Potter, doesn't mean that I can determine her every move. My family isn't exactly functional as it is, you know."

"Malfoy…" Harry prodded.

"Look, all I know is that Voldemort gave the goblet to her as a gift. At he told her that it was a gift. I'm sure she doesn't know that it's a horcrux. He most likely knew she would protect it regardless so he didn't bother to tell her…" Malfoy told Harry, ideas swirling in his mind. All the while Harry observed him with wide eyes and eagerness. He continued, "She would be proud of it but not reckless. It would be in the open but in a place that only she knew about – a place that he knew about as well in the case that something should go wrong.

He thought, and the more he did, the stronger the comprehension grew. The solution became obvious to him, but he dreaded to confirm it aloud. The fear must have registered on his face as well because Harry looked concerned.

"Draco."

Draco blinked, "There's only one place that it could be… Yes, that's got to be it. She used to talk about it all the time. Of course, she never told anyone else where it was…"

"Where, Draco?"

His voice was cold as he replied, "Tom Riddle's old home."

They returned to Hogwarts later that night empty handed but not defeated. Harry wasn't sure why Bellatrix would know the location of Tom Riddle's home, but he didn't doubt Draco's intuition. Besides, aimlessly following one lead was better than sitting still and going nowhere.

Having been granted exclusive apparating rights, Harry easily out himself and Draco at the foot of the monstrous front doors. Harry shrugged on the cloak of invisibility and they entered quietly. Though it wasn't very late, the pair trotted swiftly and soundlessly up the Grand Staircase and into the corridor upstairs. They passed no one was they travelled to the professor wing. Draco's pace was brisk, ready to see Hermione, while Harry seemed deep in thought. The came to the doors momentarily and Harry muttered the password, allowing them passage.

Draco began to hurry in the direction of Hermione's dormitory, but Harry caught his wrist, "Ask her to come into the hall so we can talk. Maybe she'll have an idea."

Nodding, but only partially listening to Harry's instructions, Draco knocked on Hermione's door. She answered quickly and at the sight of Draco, she grinned in respite. Her arms flew about his neck and he pulled her close.

"We need your help…" he said, bending down to kiss her lightly on the jaw.

Hermione's eyes darted to Harry, who had lingered behind in the hopes of allowing Draco and Hermione some space. However, the gleeful glimmer in Hermione's pupils communicated that it was more than fine for him to impose. She permitted her arms to slip from Draco's shoulders and onto Harry's. The embrace was short-lived, though as Hermione became serious.

"What do you need help with?" she asked, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear and looking at the two boys.

Draco responded first, "Do you know anything about Tom Riddle's house?"

Hermione appeared taken aback by the question, "Tom Riddle as in _the_ Tom Riddle? Why would you need to know that? Unless…."

"We didn't find the goblet, just another intuitive idea as to where it might be," Harry explained.

"And you think that it is in Tom Riddle's house?" she clarified. Harry looked at Draco, who nodded assuredly. Hermione gave one nod and then shook her head apologetically, "I don't know the first thing about his life before Hogwarts. It isn't exactly public information… He's made sure of that. Dumbledore was the only man who was unusually knowledgeable about You-Know-Who, and obviously that is a dead end."

There was a hollow feeling in Draco's stomach at the sound of Dumbledore's name, but no one else seemed to notice. He swallowed the memory.

Harry spoke, "Well surely someone else must know something. Bellatrix can't be the only person he informed about his home, right? I mean, there had to have been more important people that he could have told." Harry paused, "No offense, Malfoy."

Malfoy waved a lazy hand, "None taken, Potter. Perhaps my father knows something?"

"No, Draco," Hermione grabbed his hand. Harry tried not to notice. "It's too dangerous to contact anyone that Bellatrix might have guessed you would. There must be another way."

The group sighed collectively. Each of them was deep in thought. Draco let his head lean languidly against the wall. He sighed, "This is all so bloody complicated for such a simple objective. How do you destroy a horcrux? Oh, not that difficult really. You just blow it up, but first you must travel across the United Kingdom, duel a dragon, and sell you bloody grandmother into slavery."

"Yeah, his goal was to make it nearly impossible to find the pieces," Hermione said absentmindedly. "And if you ask me, he did an excellent job. But look, Draco, it isn't that horrible. If you want to destroy him, you must first destroy his security. We have to keep going, even if it's hard."

"I know…" Draco nodded. "I am."

Harry watched as they looked at one another fiercely. As odd as it was for him to witness and also to admit, Draco and Hermione were a couple – a real couple. Draco could have easily been using Hermione, but Harry knew that he wasn't and that he would never. The power coursing through the pathway between their eyes was an irrefutable mixture of loyalty, confidence, and desperation. The resolution in them was haunting. And it was funny, but the sight of them so frantically in love made Harry reconsider just what they were struggling tirelessly to demolish and why it was of the highest, most urgent priority.

Draco's morning came early when it came again. There was a knock at his dormitory door, soft but staccato. He groaned and attempted to ignore the sound, but it only persisted. After about the visitor's fifth attempt to arouse him, he finally threw off his comforter and scooted slowly to the door, grumbling quietly to himself.

He opened the door lazily and peered through his blurry eyes at the guest.

"Hermione?" he mumbled, scrubbing his eyes with his fists. "What are you doing?"

Hermione was smiling widely, which further deteriorated Draco's mood, "I have brilliant idea of how to find Riddle's house! It's so simple!"

She spoke rapidly that Draco had to focus to hear all the words, "Merlin, slow down, Granger. I'm half-asleep. What are you rambling about?"

"The Hogwarts letters!" Hermione gestured excitedly. "Everyone that attends school here receives one, right?"

"I dunno… I suppose so."

Hermione rolled her eyes, smile still commandeering her face, "Tom Riddle's address would be on record!"

Draco was positive that if he had been fully conscious, he would have experienced an uncontrollable rush of excitement, but given his current groggy state, all he could manage was a slight smirk, "Have I ever told you that you are a genius, Granger?"

Hermione tapped her chin playfully, "Hmm… I don't believe you have."

"Well, you certainly are…" Draco massaged his tired eyes and glanced out the window at the faint glow of the rising sun. "But let's wait until a more decent time to take action, shall we?"

"Draco…"

"What? I'm exhausted…" Draco complained. "Besides, who is up at this hour to confer with?"

Hermione placed her hands on her hips, "McGonagall wakes up at five, but it's six." Draco moaned and gave Hermione an unenthused expression. "Draco, it's urgent."

He kissed her forehead, "Right, right. Go wake Potter."

Hermione grinned and the scurried to Harry's door. He appeared about as thrilled as Draco, but despite their grumpy moods, it took then only a few minutes to prepare for their visit with McGonagall. They walked together to the professor's office. It was doubtful that any other students would be wandering the corridors at this early house, but as a precaution, Harry wore the cloak over his head.

McGonagall was thumbing through a file when the three of them entered her office. Draco knocked quietly on the door as they walked in, and McGonagall looked up. She dragged her spectacles down her long nose and gazed over the frames at them, "Good morning. I assume it's something about the goblet? Something important, judging by the hour?"

Hermione stepped forward, "Yes, Professor. We need to know the location of the Riddle House. We think the goblet might be hidden there."

McGonagall blinked and raised her eyebrows, "The Riddle House, dear. Are you sure?"

"We're sure, Professor," Draco interceded.

The fear was evident on Minerva McGonagall's wrinkled face. Of all the places she hesitating sending children to, the Riddle House was the one that tugged most forcefully against her allowance.

"I… I don't think that is a wise decision," McGonagall admitted reluctantly to the eager group. "The evil that resided in the walls of the Riddle House during Tom's era still resides there today. I imagine that the potency of it is overwhelming."

There was a second of silence before Harry interjected, "What do you mean, Professor?"

McGonagall stared at the three of them in succession, as if gaging their courage, "Dark magic, as you all may know, leaves behind a distinct trail. The kind of magic that Tom Riddle used to murder his family could have left a trail that is overpoweringly tangible. Some would dare claim that simple standing near to such powerful magic would cause one to go mad. Others would say that it would drive a visitor to death." She paused, "Whatever angle you wish to take on it, Mister Potter, the concept remains the same: when one stands before that Riddle House, they lose all sense of self. They become the darkness." She took a deep breath, "Now, putting into consideration the dire circumstances, I cannot say with a clear conscious that you may not go, but I can warn you gravely of the dangers associated with such a mission."

Draco wondered how Tom Riddle must have felt, how unstable he must have been to murder his own family in cold blood. Draco didn't enjoy his family either, but aside from Bellatrix, he could not fathom pointing a wand at them and muttering the killing curse. Such an act would require a man without a heart, the darkest soul. Setting foot into the Riddle House would mean reliving the slaughter from Tom Riddle's perspective, feeling what he felt and seeing what he saw. Draco doubted that anyone was strong enough to avoid being taken hostage to the rage and hatred and gruesome memories. And the more he thought about it, the less he wanted to finish this task. He wanted to let Harry go into the heart of that condemned hole alone. It was Harry's battle, not his, right?

No, he argued with himself. It was not a fight between Harry and Voldemort. This was a war between what was good and just and what was evil. It was everyone's battle.

"We need to go, Professor," Draco said before he realized it. "It's necessary. Do you have the address?"

McGonagall coughed, still unsettled about the entire matter, "I'm afraid I don't."

"What?" Hermione said in shock. She had been sure that her plan would work. "What about the letters Hogwarts sends to all the students?"

McGonagall shook her head, "We don't have the addressed on file, Miss Granger. The owls always know where to go." McGonagall gazed upon a very distraught Hermione and then added, "However, I do know that Albus – erm Professor Dumbledore – delivered Tom's letter personally, not to his home but to a muggle orphanage in London, which should be relatively easy to find."

"I know what it looks like," Harry said, deep in thought. "Dumbledore showed it to me in the pensieve. I could spot it."

A small smile flickered on McGonagall's thin lips and she pushed her glasses back up and opened her file again, "I believe all business has been discussed then. Run along."


End file.
